THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


0/ffie  Woods 
fffie  7/e/d 
TFow/s  <&f  ffie  yffr 


Tallowing  Me  "Deer 
Series 
efc. 


Illustrated 

Cfiar/es  Cope/and 


LT-S  'J* 

&o/v 
C/NN&  COMPANY 


oCJ 


AT  STATIONERS'  HALI. 


W/fo 
LOVES  The  WILDERNESS 


9L 
Til 


'HE  reader  who  follows  these  trails  will  find 
them  leading  into  a  new  country,  a  land 
of  space  and  silence  where  it  is  good  to 
be,  away  up  among  the  mountains  and  woods  and 
salmon  rivers  and  mossy  barren  grounds  of  Lab- 
rador and  Newfoundland.  There  he  will  find  him- 
self face  to  face  with  new  animals  —  white  wolf, 
fisher,  salmon,  wild  goose,  polar  bear,  and  a  score 
of  others  big  and  little  —  that  stop  their  silent  hunt- 
ing to  look  at  the  intruder  curiously  and  without 
fear.  In  his  turn  he  will  lay  aside  his  gun  and  his 
thoughts  of  killing  for  a  moment,  and  watch  these 
animals  with  his  heart  as  well  as  his  eyes  wide  open, 
trying  to  see  without  prejudice  just  what  things 
they  are  doing,  and  then  to  understand  if  possible 


why  and  how  they  do  them :  why,  for  instance,  the 
big  Arctic  wolf  spares  the  bull  caribou  that  attacks 
him  wantonly;  why  the  wild  goose  has  no  fear  at 
home ;  why  the  baby  seals  are  white  at  birth ;  how 
the  salmon  climb  the  falls  which  they  cannot  jump, 
and  why  they  hasten  back  to  the  sea  when  they 
are  hurt;  how  the  whale  speaks  without  a  voice; 
and  what  makes  the  fisher  confuse  his  trail,  or  leave 
beside  it  a  tempting  bait  for  you  when  you  are  fol- 
lowing him,  —  all  these  and  twenty  more  curious 
things  are  waiting  to  be  seen  and  understood  at  the 
end  of  the  trail. 

The  reader  who  has  not  followed  such  trails  before 
will  ask  at  once,  How  many  of  these  things  are 
true  ?  Every  smallest  incident  recorded  here  is  as 
true  as  careful  and  accurate  observation  can  make 
it.  In  most  of  the  following  chapters,  as  in  all  previ- 
ous volumes,  will  be  found  the  direct  results  of  my 
own  experience  among  animals ;  and  in  the  few  cases 
where,  as  stated  plainly  in  the  text,  I  have  used 
the  experience  of  other  and  wiser  men,  I  have  taken 
the  facts  from  first-hand  and  accurate  observers, 
and  have  then  sifted  them  carefully  so  as  to  retain 


only  those  that  are  in  my  own  mind  without  a  ques- 
tion as  to  their  truth.  In  the  long  story  of  Wayee- 
ses  the  White  Wolf,  for  example,  —  in  which  for 
the  greater  interest  I  have  put  the  separate  facts 
into  a  more  or  less  connected  biography,  —  every 
incident  in  this  wolf's  life,  from  his  grasshopper 
hunting  to  the  cunning  caribou  chase,  and  from 
the  den  in  the  rocks  to  the  meeting  of  wolf  and  chil- 
dren on  the  storm-swept  barrens,  is  minutely  true 
to  fact,  and  is  based  squarely  upon  my  own  obser- 
vation and  that  of  my  Indians. 

In  one  case  only,  the  story  of  Kopseep  the  Salmon, 
have  I  ventured  to  make  an  exception  to  this  rule 
of  absolute  accuracy.  For  years  I  have  followed 
and  watched  the  salmon  from  the  sea  to  the  head- 
springs of  his  own  river  and  back  again  to  the  sea, 
and  all  that  part  of  his  story  is  entirely  true  to  fact ; 
but  beyond  the  breakers  and  beneath  the  tide  no 
man  has  ever  followed  or  seen  him.  I  was  obliged, 
therefore,  either  to  omit  that  part  of  his  life  or  to 
picture  it  as  best  I  could  from  imagination  and  the 
records  of  the  salmon  hatcheries  and  deep-sea  trawl- 
ers. I  chose,  for  the  story's  sake,  the  latter  course, 


Preface 


&5T 


Preface- 


and  this  part  of  the  record  has  little  value  beyond 
a  purely  literary  one.  It  is  a  guess  at  probable 
truth,  and  not,  like  the  rest  of  the  book,  a  record 
of  careful  observation. 

If  the  reader  find  himself  often  wondering  at  the 
courage  or  gentleness  or  intelligence  of  these  free 
folk  of  the  wilderness,  that  need  not  trouble  or 
puzzle  him  for  an  instant.  He  is  not  giving  human 
traits  to  the  beasts,  but  is  simply  finding,  as  all  do 
find  who  watch  animals  closely,  many  things  which 
awaken  a  sympathetic  response  in  his  own  heart, 
and  which  he  understands,  more  or  less  clearly,  in 
precisely  the  same  way  that  he  understands  him- 
self and  his  own  children. 

It  is  not  choice,  but  necessity,  which  leads  us 
to  this  way  of  looking  at  animals  and  of  trying  to 
understand  them.  If  we  had  a  developed  animal 
psychology  based  upon  the  assumption  that  life 
in  one  creature  is  essentially  different  from  life  in 
another,  and  that  the  intelligence  in  a  wolf's  head, 
for  instance,  is  of  a  radically  different  kind  from  the 
same  intelligence  in  the  head  of  some  other  animal 
with  two  legs  instead  of  four,  then  we  might  use 


W-U^o 

H$     ~*^r 
^ 


our  knowledge  to  understand  what  we  see  upon 
these  trails.  But  there  is  no  such  psychology,  and 
the  assumption  itself  is  a  groundless  one.  Nature 
is  of  one  piece,  and  consistent  throughout.  The 
drop  is  like  the  ocean,  though  it  bears  no  ships  on 
its  bosom ;  the  tear  on  a  child's  cheek  breaks  the 
light  into  glorious  color,  as  does  the  rainbow  on 
the  spray  of  Niagara ;  and  the  law  that  holds  the 
mountains  fast  sleeps  in  the  heart  of  every  grain  of 
sand  on  the  seashore.  When  we  wish  to  measure 
the  interstellar  spaces  we  seek  no  new  celestial  unit, 
but  apply  confidently  our  own  yardstick  ;  and  the 
chemistry  that  analyzes  a  baby's  food  serves  equally 
well  for  the  satellites  of  Jupiter.  This  is  but  an 
analogy,  to  be  sure,  but  it  serves  to  guide  us  in  the 
realm  of  conscious  life,  which  also  seems  of  one 
piece  and  under  one  law.  Inspired  writers  of  every 
age  have  sought  to  comprehend  even  gods  and 
angels  by  the  same  human  intelligence  that  they 
applied  to  the  ants  and  the  conies,  and  for  the  same 
reason,  —  that  they  possessed  but  one  measure  of 
life.  Love  and  hate,  fear  and  courage,  joy  and  grief, 
pain  and  pleasure,  want  and  satisfaction,  —  these 


Preface 


things,  which  make  so  large  a  part  of  life,  are  found 
in  animals  as  well  as  in  men,  differing  much  in  de- 
gree but  not  at  all  in  kind  from  the  same  feelings 
in  our  own  hearts ;  and  we  must  measure  them,  if 
we  are  to  understand  them  at  all,  by  a  common 
standard.  To  call  a  thing  intelligence  in  one  crea- 
ture and  reflex  action  in  another,  or  to  speak  of  the 
same  thing  as  love  or  kindness  in  one  and  blind 
impulse  in  the  other,  is  to  be  blinder  ourselves  than 
the  impulse  which  is  supposed  to  govern  animals. 
Until,  therefore,  we  have  some  new  chemistry  that 
will  ignore  atoms  and  atomic  law,  and  some  new 
psychology  that  ignores  animal  intelligence  alto- 
gether, or  regards  it  as  under  a  radically  different 
law  from  our  own,  we  must  apply  what  we  know 
of  ourselves  and  our  own  motives  to  the  smaller 
and  weaker  lives  that  are  in  some  distant  way  akin 
to  our  own. 

To  cover  our  own  blindness  and  lack  of  observa- 
tion we  often  make  a  mystery  and  hocus-pocus  of 
animal  life  by  using  the  word  instinct  to  cover  it 
all ;  as  if  instinct  were  the  mysterious  and  exclu- 
sive possession  of  the  animals,  and  not  a  common 

U[ 


heritage  which  we  share  with  them  in  large  meas- 
ure. It  is  an  unmeaning  word  at  best ;  for  no  one 
has  told  us,  except  in  the  vaguest  way,  what  in- 
stinct is,  or  has  set  the  limit  where  instinct  ends 
and  conscious  intelligence  begins,  or  has  shown  how 
far  the  primary  instincts  of  a  child  differ  from  those 
of  any  other  animal.  On  the  other  hand,  one  who 
watches  animals  closely  and  sympathetically  must 
judge  from  what  he  sees  that  the  motives  which 
govern  an  animal's  action  are  often  very  much  like 
our  own,  the  difference  being  that  the  animal's  mo- 
tive is  more  simple  and  natural  than  ours,  and  that 
among  the  higher  orders  the  greater  part  of  an 
animal's  life  —  playing,  working,  seeking  food,  mak- 
ing dens,  outwitting  other  animals,  avoiding  traps 
and  enemies  —  is  directed  not  by  a  blind  instinct 
but  by  a  very  wide-awake  intelligence.  And  this  in- 
telligence begins  by  the  use  of  native  powers  and  is 
strengthened  by  their  daily  occupation  ;  is  encour- 
aged and  developed  by  the  mother's  training  and 
example  as  she  leads  her  little  ones  into  the  world, 
and  is  perfected  by  the  animal's  own  experience, 
which  he  remembers  in  the  face  of  new  problems 


XIX 


£3- 


—  precisely  as  we  do.  A  wild  animal's  life  may 
indeed  be  far  below  ours,  but  he  lives  much  in 
that  pleasant  border-land  between  thought  and  feel- 
ing where  we  so  often  find  ourselves  in  our  quiet 
moments,  and  there  is  no  earthly  need  to  make  a 
mystery  of  him  by  talking  vaguely  of  instinct,  since 
so  much  of  his  life  corresponds  to  our  own  and 
becomes  intelligible  to  us  the  moment  we  lay  aside 
our  prejudice  or  hostility  and  watch  him  with  a 
patient  and  friendly  interest. 

I  make  no  claim  whatever  that  animals  reason 
or  think  or  feel  as  men  and  women  do.  I  have 
watched  them  too  long  for  that  ;  and  sitting  beside 
the  beaver's  village  in  the  still  twilight  of  the  wil- 
derness I  find  enough  to  occupy  eyes  and  mind 
without  making  any  comparison  with  the  unquiet 
cities  of  men  far  away.  But  here  before  me  is  a  life 
to  be  understood  before  it  can  be  described,  —  a  life, 
not  an  automaton,  with  its  own  joys  and  fears,  its 
own  problems,  and  its  own  intelligence ;  and  the 
only  conceivable  way  for  me  to  understand  it  is  to 
put  myself  for  a  moment  in  its  place  and  lay  upon 
it  the  measure  of  the  only  life  of  which  I  have  any 


direct  knowledge  or  understanding,  which  is  my 
own.  And  this,  far  from  being  visionary  or  hyper- 
sensitive, as  the  makers  of  mechanical  natural  his- 
tory would  have  us  believe,  is  the  only  rational, 
indeed  the  only  possible,  way  of  understanding  any 
animal  action. 

So,  whether  one  looks  for  the  facts  of  animal  life 
or  for  the  motives  which  govern  it,  the  reader  may 
follow  these  trails,  as  I  first  followed  them,  with  the 
idea  of  seeing  with  his  own  eyes  and  understanding 
with  his  own  heart.  He  will  see  many  things  that 
he  does  not  understand,  and  so  will  listen  with  respect 
to  Noel  and  Old  Tomah,  who  for  fifty  seasons  and 
more  have  lived  close  to  the  Wood  Folk.  And  he 
will  find  at  the  end  of  every  trail  a  real  animal,  as 
true  to  life  as  I  am  able  to  see  and  describe  it  after 
many  years  of  watching  in  the  wilderness. 

WILLIAM  J.  LONG. 
STAMFORD,  CONN., 

January,  1905. 


xx 


Preface 


JL 
»* 

:t*f«-:v.| 
Js^'«t 


WAYEESES  THE  STRONG  ONE   . 

THE  OLD  WOLF'S  CHALLENGE    . 

WHERE  THE  TRAIL  BEGINS 

NOEL  AND  MOOKA        .... 

THE  WAY  OF  THE  WOLF     . 

THE  WHITE  WOLF'S  HUNTING    . 

TRAILS  THAT  CROSS  IN  THE  SNOW 
IN  QUEST  OF  WAPTONK  THE  WILD 
PEQUAM  THE  FISHER          .... 
THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  CUNNING  ONE  . 
OUT  OF  THE  DEEPS  ..... 
MATWOCK.  OF  THE  ICEBERGS     . 
WHERE  THE  SALMON  JUMP 
THE  STORY  OF  KOPSEEP  .... 
xxiii 


3 
13 

27 

S1 

103 

137 
173 
219 
243 
273 
297 
3i5 
343 


'WAYEESES    HAD    CHOSEN    HER    DEN    WELL"    (see    page    19) 

Frontispiece 

I 

'THE  TERRIBLE  HOWL  OF  A  GREAT  WHITE  WOLF"  .  9 
•WATCHING  HER  GROWING  YOUNGSTERS"  .  .  -45 
'  As  THE  MOTHER'S  LONG  JAWS  CLOSED  OVER  THE  SMALL 

OF  THE  BACK" 75 

'THE  SILENT,  APPALLING  DEATH-WATCH  BEGAN"  .  117 
'A  QUICK  SNAP  WHERE  THE  HEART  LAY"  .  .  .163 
•WHEN  HE  WINDS  DOWN  THE  INVISIBLE  STAIRCASE  OF 

THE  WINDS" 185 

'  HE  RUSHED  STRAIGHT  AT  ME  " 203 

'HE  HAD  PICKED  UP  THE  TRAIL  AND  DARTED  AWAY"  .  22J 

•ROUSES  PEQUAM'S  TEMPER" 263 

•A  LONG  SNAKY  BODY  LEAPED  CLEAR  OF  THE  WATER"  .  291 

•A  SALMON  SPRINGS  OUT" 329 

'AS  IF  IT  WERE  HIS  OWN  SHADOW  THAT  HE  WAS  TRYING 

TO  ESCAPE" 365 


E  were  beating  up  the  Straits  to  the 
Labrador  when  a  great  gale  swooped 
down  on  us  and  drove  us  like  a  scared  wild 
duck  into  a  cleft  in  the  mountains,  where 
the  breakers  roared  and  the  seals  barked  on 
the  black  rocks  and  the  reefs  bared  their 
teeth  on  either  side,  like  the  long  jaws  of 
a  wolf,  to  snap  at  us  as  we  passed. 

In  our  flight  we  had  picked  up  a  fisher- 
man—  snatched  him  out  of  his  helpless  punt 

3 


as  we  luffed  in  a  smother  of  spray,  and 
dragged  him  aboard,  like  an  enormous  frog, 

at  the  end  of  the  ][b  sheet— and  ii:  was  he 

who  now  stood  at  the  wheel  of  our  little 
schooner  and  took  her  careening  in  through 
the  tickle  of  Harbor  Woe.  There,  in  a  deso- 
late, rock-bound  refuge  on  the  Newfoundland 
coast,  the  Wild  Duck  swung  to  her  anchor, 
veering  nervously  in  the  tide  rip,  tugging 
impatiently  and  clanking  her  chains  as  if 
eager  to  be  out  again  in  the  turmoil.  At 
sunset  the  gale  blew  itself  out,  and  presently 
the  moon  wheeled  full  and  clear  over  the 
dark  mountains. 

Noel,  my  big  Indian,  was  curled  up  asleep 
in  a  caribou  skin  by  the  foremast;  and  the 
crew  were  all  below  asleep,  every  man  glad 
in  his  heart  to  be  once  more  safe  in  a  snug 
harbor.  All  about  us  stretched  the  desolate 
wastes  of  sea  and  mountains,  over  which 
silence  and  darkness  brooded,  as  over  the 
first  great  chaos.  Near  at  hand  were  the 
black  rocks,  eternally  wet  and  smoking  w7ith 
the  fog  and'  gale ;  beyond  towered  the  ice- 
bergs, pale,  cold,  glittering  like  spires  of 


silver  in  the  moonlight;  far  away,  like  a 
vague  shadow,  a  handful  of  little  gray  houses 
clung  like  barnacles  to  the  base  of  a  great 
bare  hill  whose  foot  was  in  the  sea  and  whose 
head  wavered  among  the  clouds  of  heaven. 
Not  a  light  shone,  not  a  sound  or  a  sign 
of  life  came  from  these  little  houses,  whose 
shells  close  daily  at  twilight  over  the  life 
within,  weary  with  the  day's  work.  Only 
the  dogs  were  restless  —  those  strange  crea- 
tures that  shelter  in  our  houses  and  share 
our  bread,  yet  live  in  another  world,  a  dumb, 
silent,  lonely  world  shut  out  from  ours  by 
impassable  barriers. 

For  hours  these  uncanny  dogs  had  puzzled 
me,  a  score  of  vicious,  hungry  brutes  that 
drew  the  sledges  in  winter  and  that  picked 
up  a  vagabond  living  in  the  idle  summer  by 
hunting  rabbits  and  raiding  the  fishermen's 
flakes  and  pig-pens  and  by  catching  flounders 
in  the  sea  as  the  tide  ebbed.  Venture  among 
them  with  fear  in  your 
heart  and  they  would 
fly  at  your  legs  and 
throat  like  wild  beasts; 


but  twirl  a  big  stick  jauntily,  or  better  still 
go  quietly  on  your  way  without  concern,  and 
they  would  skulk  aside  and  watch  you  hun- 
grily  out  of  the  corners  of  their  surly  eyes, 
whose  lids  were  red  and  bloodshot  as  a  mas- 
tiff's. When  the  moon  rose  I  noticed  them 
flitting  about  like  witches  on  the  lonely  shore, 
miles  away  from  the  hamlet ;  now  sitting  on 
their  tails  in  a  solemn  circle;  now  howling 
all  together  as  if  demented,  and  anon  listen- 
ing intently  in  the  vast  silence,  as  if  they 
heard  or  smelled  or  perhaps  just  felt  the 
presence  of  some  unknown  thing  that  was 
hidden  from  human  senses.  And  when  I 
paddled  ashore  to  watch  them  one  ran  swiftly 
past  without  heeding  me,  his  nose  out- 
stretched, his  eyes  green  as  foxfire  in  the 
moonlight,  while  the  others  vanished  like 
shadows  among  the  black  rocks,  each  intent 
on  his  unknown  quest. 

That  is  why  I  had  come  up  from  my  warm 
bunk  at  midnight  to  sit  alone  on  the  taffrail, 
listening  in  the  keen  air  to  the  howling  that 
made  me  shiver,  spite  of  myself,  and  watch- 
ing in  the  vague  moonlight  to  understand  if 


possible  what  the  brutes  felt  amid  the  primal 
silence  and  desolation. 

A  long  interval  of  profound  stillness  had 
passed,  and  I  could  just  make  out  the  circle 
of  dogs  sitting  on  their  tails  on  the  open 
shore,  when  suddenly,  faint  and  far  away,  an 
unearthly  howl  came  rolling  down  the  moun- 
tains, ooooooo-ow-wow-wow !  a  long  wailing 
crescendo  beginning  softly,  like  a  sound  in  a 
dream,  and  swelling  into  a  roar  that  waked 
the  sleeping  echoes  and  set  them  jumping  like 
startled  goats  from  crag  to  crag.  Instantly 
the  huskies  answered,  every  dog  breaking 
out  into  indescribable  frenzied  wailings,  as  a 
collie  responds  in  agony  to  certain  chords  of 
music  that  stir  all  the  old  wolf  nature  sleep- 
ing within  him.  For  five  minutes  the  uproar 
was  appalling;  then  it  ceased  abruptly  and 
the  huskies  ran  wildly  here  and  there  among 
the  rocks.  From  far  away  an  answer,  an 
echo  perhaps  of  their  wailing,  or,  it  may  be, 
the  cry  of  the  dogs  of 
St.  Margaret's,  came 
ululating  over  the  deep,  J  \&T~  \y 
Then  silence  again,  vast 


ffieOM Wo/ft 


TSeOWOMfs 

Cfta/Jenge 

— i--*-!^     -     -_ «-^_i-n 


and  unnatural,  settling  over  the  gloomy  land 
like  a  winding-sheet. 


As  the  unknown  howl  trembled  faintly 
in  the  air  Noel,  who  had  slept  undisturbed 
through  all  the  clamor  of  the  dogs,  stirred 
uneasily  by  the  foremast.  As  it  deepened 
and  swelled  into  a  roar  that  filled  all  the 
night  he  threw  off  the  caribou  skin  and  came 
aft  to  where  I  was  watching  alone.  "  Das 
Wayeeses.  I  know  dat  hwulf;  he  follow 
me  one  time,  oh,  long,  long  while 
ago,"  he  whispered.  And  taking 
my  marine  glasses  he  stood 
beside  me  watching  intently. 
There  was  another  long 
period  of  waiting;  our  eyes 
grew  weary,  filled  as  they  were  with  shadows 
and  uncertainties  in  the  moonlight,  and  we 
turned  our  ears  to  the  hills,  waiting  with 
strained,  silent  expectancy  for  the  challenge. 
Suddenly  Noel  pointed  upward  and  my  eye 
caught  something  moving  swiftly  on  the  crest 
of  the  mountain.  A  shadow  with  the  slink- 
ing trot  of  a  wolf  glided  along  the  ridge 
between  us  and  the  moon.  Just  in  front  of 


1  The  terrible  howl  of  the  great 
white  wolf" 


us  it  stopped,  leaped  upon  a  big  rock,  turned 

a  pointed  nose  up  to  the  sky,  sharp  and  clear  -757— /^j^////  /*-, 

as  a  fir  top  in  the  moonlight,  and  —  ooooooo-  „, 
ow-wow-wow !  the  terrible  howl  of  a  great  .-^-^\  v_3> 
white  wolf  tumbled  down  on  the  husky  dogs 
and  set  them  howling  as  if  possessed.  No 
doubt  now  of  their  queer  actions  which  had 
puzzled  me  for  hours  past.  The  wild  wolf 
had  called  and  the  tame  wolves  waked  to 
answer.  Before  my  dull  ears  had  heard  a 
rumor  of  it  they  were  crazy  with  the  excite- 
ment. Now  every  chord  in  their  wild  hearts 
was  twanging  its  thrilling  answer  to  the 
leader's  summons,  and  my  own  heart  awoke 
and  thrilled  as  it  never  did  before  to  the  call 
of  a  wild  beast. 

For  an  hour  or  more  the  old  wolf  sat  there, 
challenging  his  degenerate  mates  in  every 
silence,  calling  the  tame  to  be  wild,  the 
bound  to  be  free  again,  and  listening  gravely 
to  the  wailing  answer  of  the  dogs,  which 
refused  with  groanings,  as  if  dragging  them- 
selves away  from  overmastering  temptation. 
Then  the  shadow  vanished  from  the  big 
rock  on  the  mountain,  the  huskies  fled  away 


wildly  from  the  shore,  and  only  the  sob  of 
the  breakers  broke  the  stillness. 

That  was  my  first  (and  Noel's  last)  shad- 
owy glimpse  of  Wayeeses,  the  huge  white 
wolf  which  I  had  come  a  thousand  miles 
over  land  and  sea  to  study.  All  over  the 
Long  Range  of  the  northern  peninsula  I  fol- 
lowed him,  guided  sometimes  by  a  rumor  — 
a  hunter's  story  or  a  postman's  fright,  caught 
far  inland  in  winter  and  huddling  close  by 
his  fire  with  his  dogs  through  the  long 
winter  night  —  and  again  by  a  track  on  the 
shore  of  some  lonely,  unnamed  pond,  or  the 
sight  of  a  herd  of  caribou  flying  wildly  from 
some  unseen  danger.  Here  is  the  white 
wolf's  story,  learned  partly  from  much  watch- 
ing and  following  his  tracks  alone,  but  more 
from  Noel  the  Indian  hunter,  in  endless 
tramps  over  the  hills  and  caribou  marshes 

in  lon§ 


£ ./  ,quiet 

^  'the  firelight 
beside  the 
salmon  rivers. 


FROM  a  cave  in  the  rocks,  on  the 
unnamed  mountains  that  tower  over 
Harbor  Weal  on  the  north  and  east,  a 
huge  mother  wolf  appeared,  stealthily,  as  all 
wolves  come  out  of  their  dens.  A  pair  of 
green  eyes  glowed  steadily  like  coals  deep 
within  the  dark  entrance ;  a  massive  gray 
head  rested  unseen  against  the  lichens  of  a 
gray  rock ;  then  the  whole  gaunt  body  glided 
like  a  passing  cloud  shadow  into  the  June 
sunshine  and  was  lost  in  a  cleft  of  the  rocks. 
15 


i6 

Where  ffierra/I 


There,  in  the  deep  shadow  where  no  eye 
might  notice  the  movement,  the  old  wolf 
shook  off  the  delicious  sleepiness  that  still 
lingered  in  all  her  big  muscles.  First  she 
spread  her  slender  fore  paws,  working  the 
toes  till  they  were  all  wide-awake,  and  bent 
her  body  at  the  shoulders  till  her  deep  chest 
touched  the  earth.  Next  a  hind  leg  stretched 
Out  straight  and  tense  as  a  bar,  and  was  taken 
back  again  in  nervous  little  jerks.  At  the 
same  time  she  yawned  mightily,  wrinkling 
her  nose  and  showing  her  red  gums  with  the 
black  fringes  and  the  long  white  fangs  that 
could  reach  a  deer's  heart  in  a  single  snap. 
Then  she  leaped  upon  a  great  rock  and  sat 
up  straight,  with  her  bushy  tail  curled  close 
about  her  fore  paws,  a  savage,  powerful,  noble- 
looking  beast,  peering  down  gravely  over  the 
green  mountains  to  the  shining  sea. 

A  moment  before  the  hillside  had  appeared 
utterly  lifeless,  so  still  and  rugged  and  deso- 
late that  one  must  notice  and  welcome  the 
stir  of  a  mouse  or  ground  squirrel   in 
the  moss,  speaking  of  life  that  is  glad 
~-~.. ,..-  and  free  and 


vigorous  even  in  the  deepest  solitudes;  yet 
now,  so  quietly  did  the  old  wolf  appear, 
so  perfectly  did  her  rough  gray  coat  blend 
with  the  rough  gray  rocks,  that  the  hillside 
seemed  just  as  tenantless  as  before.  A  stray 
wind  seemed  to  move  the  mosses,  that  was 
all.  Only  where  the  mountains  once  slept 
now  they  seemed  wide-awake.  Keen  eyes 
saw  every  moving  thing,  from  the  bees  in 
the  bluebells  to  the  slow  fishing-boats  far  out 
at  sea;  sharp  ears  that  were  cocked  like  a 
collie's  heard  every  chirp  and  trill  and  rustle, 
and  a  nose  that  understood  everything  was 
holding  up  every  vagrant  breeze  and  search- 
ing it  for  its  message.  For  the  cubs  were 
coming  out  for  the  first  time  to  play  in  the 
big  world,  and  no  wild  mother  ever  lets  that 
happen  without  first  taking  infinite  precau- 
tions that  her  little  ones  be  not  molested  nor 
made  afraid. 

A  faint  breeze  from  the  west  strayed  over 
the  mountains  and  instantly  the  old  wolf 
turned  her  sensitive  nose  to  question  it. 
There  on  her  right,  and  just  across  a  deep 
ravine  where  a  torrent  went  leaping  down  to 


the  sea  in  hundred-foot  jumps,  a  great  stag 
caribou  was  standing,  still  as  a  stone,  on  a 
lofty  pinnacle,  looking  down  over  the  marvel- 
ous  panorama  spread  wide  beneath  his  feet. 
Every  day  Megaleep  came  there  to  look,  and 
the  old  wolf  in  her  daily  hunts  often  crossed 
the  deep  path  which  he  had  worn  through  the 
moss  from  the  wide  table-lands  over  the  ridge 
to  this  sightly  place  where  he  could  look  down 
curiously  at  the  comings  and  goings  of  men 
on  the  sea.  But  at  this  season  when  small 
game  was  abundant  —  and  indeed  at  all  sea- 
sons when  not  hunger-driven  —  the  wolf  was 
peaceable  and  the  caribou  were  not  molested. 
Indeed  the  big  stag  knew  well  where  the  old 
wolf  denned.  Every  east  wind  brought 
her  message  to  his  nostrils  ;  but  secure  in 
his  own  strength  and  in  the  general  peace 
which  prevails  in  the  summer-time  among 
all  large  animals  of  the  north,  he  came 
daily  to  look  down  on  the  harbor  and 
wag  his  ears  at  the  fishing-boats,  which  he 
could  never  understand. 

Strange  neighbors  these,  the  grim,  savage 
mother  wolf  of  the  mountains,  hiding  her 


young  in  dens  of  the  rocks,  and  the  wary, 
magnificent  wanderer  of  the  broad  caribou 
barrens ;  but  they  understood  each  other,  and 
neither  wolf  nor  caribou  had  any  fear  or 
hostile  intent  one  for  the  other.  And  this 
is  not  strange  at  all,  as  might  be  supposed 
by  those  who  think  animals  are  governed 
by  fear  on  one  hand  and  savage  cruelty  on 
the  other,  but  is  one  of  the  commonest  things 
to  be  found  by  those  who  follow  faithfully 
the  northern  trails. 

Wayeeses  had  chosen  her  den  well,  on 
the  edge  of  the  untrodden  solitudes — sixty 
miles  as  the  crow  flies  —  that  stretch  north- 
ward from  Harbor  Weal  to  Harbor  Woe.  It 
was  just  under  the  ridge,  in  a  sunny  hollow 
among  the  rocks,  on  the  southern  slope  of 
the  great  mountains.  The  earliest  sunshine 
found  the  place  and  warmed  it,  bringing 
forth  the  bluebells  for  a  carpet,  while  in  every 
dark  hollow  the  snow  lingered  all  summer 
long,  making  dazzling  white  patches  on  the 
mountain;  and  under  the  high  waterfalls, 
that  looked  from  the  harbor  like  bits  of  silver 
ribbon  stretched  over  the  green  woods,  the 


Where  JfteT/zil 

"Begins 


ice  clung-  to  the  rocks  in  fantastic  knobs  and 
20 

gargoyles,  making  cold,  deep  pools  for  the 

trout  to  play  in>  So  it  was  both  cool  and 

warm  there,  and  whatever  the  weather  the 
gaunt  old  mother  wolf  could  always  find  just 
the  right  spot  to  sleep  away  the  afternoon. 
Best  of  all  it  was  perfectly  safe ;  for  though 
from  the  door  of  her  den  she  could  look 
down  on  the  old  Indian's  cabin,  like  a  pebble 
on  the  shore,  so  steep  were  the  billowing 
hills  and  so  impassable  the  ravines  that  no 
human  foot  ever  trod  the  place,  not  even  in 
autumn  when  the  fishermen  left  their  boats 
at  anchor  in  Harbor  Weal  and  camped  inland 
on  the  paths  of  the  big  caribou,  herds. 

Whether  or  not  the  father  wolf  ever  knew 
where  his  cubs  were  hidden  only  he  himself 
could  tell.  He  was  an  enormous  brute,  power- 
ful and  cunning  beyond  measure,  that  haunted 
the  lonely  thickets  and  ponds  bordering  the 
great  caribou  barrens  over  the  ridge,  and 
that  kept  a  silent  watch,  within  howling  dis- 
tance, over  the  den  which  he  never  saw. 
Sometimes  the  mother  wolf  met  him  on  her 
wanderings  and  they  hunted  together.  Often 


he  brought  the  game  he  had  caught,  a  fox 
or  a  young  goose  ;  and  sometimes  when  she 
had  hunted  in  vain  he  met  her,  as  if  he  had 
understood  her  need  from  a  distance,  and  led 
her  to  where  he  had  buried  two  or  three 
of  the  rabbits  that  swarmed  in  the  thickets. 
But  spite  of  the  attention  and  the  indifferent 
watch  which  he  kept,  he  never  ventured  near 
the  den,  which  he  could  have  found  easily 
enough  by  following  the  mother's  track. 
The  old  she-wolf  would  have  flown  at  his 
throat  like  a  fury  had  he  showed  his  head 
over  the  top  of  the  ridge. 

The  reason  for  this  was  simple  enough  to 
the  savage  old  mother,  though  there  are 
some  things  about  it  that  men  do  not  yet 
understand.  Wolves,  like  cats  and  foxes,  and 
indeed  like  most  wild  male  animals,  have  an 
atrocious  way  of  killing  their  own  young 
when  they  find  them  unprotected ;  so  the 
mother  animal  searches  out  a  den  by  herself 
and  rarely  allows  the  male  to  come  near  it. 
Spite  of  this  beastly  habit  it  must  be  said 
honestly  of  the  old  he-wolf  that  he 
shows  a  marvelous  gentleness  towards  ?- 


21 


"Begins 


his  mate.     He  runs  at  the  slightest  show  of 


teet^  *rom  a  motner  w°tf  na-tf  his  size,  and  will 

stand  meekly  a  snap  of  the  jaws  or  a  cruel  gash 

°f  the  terrible  fangs  in  his  flank  without  de- 
fending himself.  Even  our  hounds  seem  to 
have  inherited  something  of  this  primitive 
wolf  trait,  for  there  are  seasons  when,  unless 
urged  on  by  men,  they  will  not  trouble  a 
mother  wolf  or  fox.  Many  times,  in  the  early 
spring  when  foxes  are  mating,  and  again  later 
when  they  are  heavy  with  young  and  incapa- 
ble of  a  hard  run,  I  have  caught  my  hounds 
trotting  meekly  after  a  mother  fox,  sniffing 
her  trail  indifferently  and  sitting  down  with 
heads  turned  aside  when  she  stops  for  a 
moment  to  watch  and  yap  at  them  disdain- 
fully. And  when  you  call  them  they  come 
shamefaced;  though  in  winter-time,  when 
running  the  same  fox  to  death,  they  pay  no 
more  heed  to  your  call  than  to  the  crows 
clamoring  over  them.  But  we  must  return 
to  Wayeeses,  sitting  over  her  den  on  a  great 
gray  rock,  trying  every  breeze,  searching  every 
movement,  harking  to  every  chirp  and  rustle 
before  bringing  her  cubs  out  into  the  world. 


Satisfied  at  last  with  her  silent  investiga- 
tion she  turned  her  head  towards  the  den. 
There  was  no  sound,  only  one  of  those  silent, 
unknown  communications  that  pass  between 
animals.  Instantly  there  was  a  scratching, 
scurrying,  whining,  and  three  cubs  tumbled 
out  of  the  dark  hole  in  the  rocks,  with  fuzzy 
yellow  fur  and  bright  eyes  and  sharp  ears 
and  noses,  like  collies,  all  blinking  and  won- 
dering and  suddenly  silent  at  the  big  bright 
world  which  they  had  never  seen  before,  so 
different  from  the  dark  den  under  the  rocks. 

Indeed  it  was  a  marvelous  world  that  the 
little  cubs  looked  upon  when  they  came  out 
to  blink  and  wonder  in  the  June  sunshine. 
Contrasts  everywhere,  that  made  the  world 
seem  too  big  for  one  little  glance  to  com- 
prehend it  all.  Here  the  sunlight  streamed 
and  danced  and  quivered  on  the  warm  rocks ; 
there  deep  purple  cloud  shadows  rested  for 
hours,  as  if  asleep,  or  swept  over  the  moun- 
tain side  in  an  endless  game  of  fox-and-geese 
with  the  sunbeams.  Here  the  birds  trilled, 
the  bees  hummed  in  the  bluebells,  the  brook 
roared  and  sang  on  its  way  to  the  sea ;  while 


23 

Where  ffie Trail 
"Begins 


over  all  the  harmony  of  the  world  brooded  a 

silence  to°  great  to  be  disturbed    Sunli§ht 

and  shadow,  snow  and  ice,  gloomy  ravines  and 
dazzling  mountain  tops,  mayflowers  and  sing- 
ing  birds  and  rustling  winds  filled  all  the  earth 
with  color  and  movement  and  melody.  From 
under  their  very  feet  great  masses  of  rock, 
tossed  and  tumbled  as  by  a  giant's  play, 
stretched  downwards  to  where  the  green 
woods  began  and  rolled  in  vast  billows  to 
the  harbor,  which  shone  and  sparkled  in  the 
sun,  yet  seemed  no  bigger  than  their  mother's 
paw.  Fishing-boats  with  shining  sails  hov- 
ered over  it,  like  dragon-flies,  going  and 
coming  from  the  little  houses  that  sheltered 
together  under  the  opposite  mountain,  like  a 
cluster  of  gray  toadstools  by  a  towering  pine 
stump.  Most  wonderful,  most  interesting  of 
all  was  the  little  gray  hut  on  the  shore,  almost 
under  their  feet,  where  little  Noel  and  the 
Indian  children  played  with  the  tide  like  fid- 
dler crabs,  or  pushed  bravely  out  to  meet  the 
fishermen  in  a  bobbing  nutshell.  For  wolf 
cubs  are  like  collies  in  this,  that  they  seem 
to  have  a  natural  interest,  perhaps  a  natural 


kinship  with  man,  and  next  to  their  own  kind 
nothing  arouses  their  interest  like  a  group  of 
children  playing. 

So  the  little  cubs  took  their  first  glimpse 
of  the  big  world,  of  mountains  and  sea  and 
sunshine,  and  children  playing  on  the  shore, 
and  the  world  was  altogether  too  wonderful 
for  little  heads  to  comprehend.  Nevertheless 
one  plain  impression  remained,  the  same  that 
you  see  in  the  ears  and  nose  and  stumbling 
feet  and  wagging  tail  of  every  puppy-dog  you 
meet  on  the  streets,  that  this  bright  world 
is  a  famous  place,  just  made  a-purpose  for 
little  ones  to  play  in.  Sitting  on  their  tails 
in  a  solemn  row  the  wolf  cubs  bent  their 
heads  and  pointed  their  noses  gravely  at  the 
sea.  There  it  was,  all  silver  and  blue  and 
boundless,  with  tiny  white  sails  dancing  over 
it,  winking  and  flashing  like  entangled  bits  of 
sunshine ;  and  since  the  eyes  of  a  cub,  like 
those  of  a  little  child,  cannot  judge  distances, 
one  stretched  a  paw  at  the  nearest  sail,  miles 
away,  to  turn  it  over  and  make  it  go  the  other 
way.  They  turned  up  their  heads  sidewise 
and  blinked  at  the  sky,  all  blue  and  calm  and 


Where  ffteJ/w/ 
"Beg/us 


26 

Wfiere ffteTra/l 


infinite,  with  white  clouds  sailing  over  it  like 
swans  on  a  limpid  lake ;  and  one  stood  up  on 
his  hind  legs  and  reached  up  both  paws,  like 
a  kitten,  to  pull  down  a  cloud  to  play  with. 
Then  the  wind  stirred  a  feather  near  them, 
the  white  feather  of  a  ptarmigan  which  they 
had  eaten  yesterday,  and  forgetting  the  big 
world  and  the  sail  and  the  cloud  the  cubs 
took  to  playing  with  the  feather,  chasing  and 
worrying  and  tumbling  over  each  other,  while 
the  gaunt  old  mother  wolf  looked  down  from 
her  rock  and  watched  and  was  satisfied. 


that  same 
afternoon,  little  ? 

Noel  and  his  sister  Mooka  were  going  on  :- 
wonderful  sledge  journeys,  meeting  wolves 
and  polar  bears  and  caribou  and  all  sorts  of 
adventures,  more  wonderful  by  far  than  any 
that  ever  came  to  imagination  astride  of  a 
rocking-horse.  They  had  a  rare  team  of  dogs, 
Caesar  and  Wolf  and  Grouch  and  the  rest,  ^ 
—  five  or  six  uneasy  crabs  which  they  had 
caught  and  harnessed  to  a  tiny  sledge  made 
from  a  curved  root  and  a  shingle  tied  together 
with  a  bit  of  sea-kelp.  And  when  the  crabs 

scurried  away  over  the  hard  sand,  waving 

29 


their  claws  wildly,  Noel  and   Mooka  would 
s*r     /  caper  alongside,  cracking  a  little  whip  and 

Crying  "Hi'  hi'  Ceesar!     Hiya'  Wolf!     Hi' 


_and  then  shrieking  with 
laughter  as  the  sledge  overturned  and  the 
crabs  took  to  fighting  and  scratching  in  the 
tangled  harness,  just  like  the  husky  dogs  in 
winter.  Mooka  was  trying  to  untangle  them, 
dancing  about  to  keep  her  bare  toes  and  fin- 
gers away  from  the  nipping  claws,  when  she 
jumped  up  with  a  yell,  the  biggest  crab  hang- 
ing to  the  end  of  her  finger. 

"  Owee  !  oweeeee  !  Caesar  bit  me,"  she 
wailed.  Then  she  stopped,  with  finger  in 
her  mouth,  while  Caesar  scrambled  headlong 
into  the  tide;  for  Noel  was  standing  on  the 
beach  pointing  at  a  brown  sail  far  down  in 
the  deep  bay,  where  Southeast  Brook  came 
singing  from  the  green  wilderness. 

"  Ohe,  Mooka  !  there  's  father  and  Old 
Tomah  come  back  from  salmon  fishing." 

"  Let  's  go  meet  um,  little  brother,"  said 
Mooka,  her  black  eyes  dancing;  and  in  a 
wink  crabs  and  sledges  were  forgotten.  The 
old  punt  was  off  in  a  shake,  the  tattered  sail 


MooAa 


up,  skipper  Noel  lounging  in  the  stern,  like 

an  old  salt,  with  the  steering  oar,  while  the 

crew,  forgetting  her  nipped   finger,  tugged  ^£0~* 

valiantly  at  the  main-sheet. 

They  were  scooting  away  gloriously,  ris- 
ing and  pounding  the  waves,  when  Mooka, 
who  did  net  have  to  steer  and  whose  rest- 
less glance  was  roving  over  every  bay  and 
hillside,  jumped  up,  her  eyes  round  as  lynx's. 

"  Look,    Noel,   look !     There  's    Megaleep 
again  watching  us."    And  Noel,  following  her 
finger,  saw  far  up  on  the  mountain  a  stag 
caribou,  small  and  fine  and  clear  as  a  cameo 
against  the  blue  sky,  w7here  they  had  so  often 
noticed  him  with  wonder  watching  them  as 
they   came    shouting    home   with    the   tide. 
Instantly    Noel   threw  himself  against 
the    steering   oar;    the   punt  came  up 
floundering  and  shaking  in  the  wind. 

"Come  on,  little  sister;  we  can  go  up 
Fox  Brook.    Tomah  showed  me  trail." 
And  forgetting  the  salmon,  as  they 
had  a  moment  before  forgotten  the  ; 
crabs  and  sledges,  these  two  children  : 
of   the  wild,  following  every  breeze  ,; 


and  bird  call  and  blossoming  bluebell  and 
s^-ar  anke,  tumbled  ashore  and  went 


hurrying  up  the  brook,  splashing  through 
the  shailowSj  darting  like  kingfishers  over 
the  points,  and  jumping  like  wild  goats  from 
rock  to  rock.  In  an  hour  they  were  far  up  the 
mountain,  lying  side  by  side  on  a  great  flat 
rock,  looking  across  a  deep  impassable  valley 
and  over  two  rounded  hilltops,  where  the  scrub 
spruces  looked  like  pins  on  a  cushion,  to  the 
bare,  rugged  hillside  where  Megaleep  stood 
out  like  a  watchman  against  the  blue  sky. 

"  Does  he  see  us,  little  brother  ?  "  whis- 
pered Mooka,  quivering  with  excitement  and 
panting  from  the  rapid  climb. 

"  See  us  ?  sartin,  little  sister  ;  but  that  only 
make  him  want  peek  um  some  more,"  said 
the  little  hunter.  And  raised  carelessly  on 
his  elbows  he  was  telling  Mooka  how  Mega- 
leep the  caribou  trusted  only  his  nose,  and 
how  he  watched  and  played  peekaboo  with 
anything  which  he  could  not  smell,  and  how 
in  a  snowstorm  — 

Noel  was  off  now  like  a  brook,  babbling 
a  deal  of  caribou  lore  which  he  had  learned 


from  Old  Tomah  the  hunter,  when  Mooka, 
whose  restless  black  eyes  were  always  wan- 
dering, seized  his  arm. 

"  Hush,  brother,  and  look,  oh,  look!   there  ^ 
on  the  big  rock ! " 

Noel's  eyes  had  already  caught  the  Indian 
trick  of  seeing  only  what  they  look  for,  and 
so  of  separating  an  animal  instantly  from  his 
surroundings,  however  well  he  hides.    That 
is  why  the  whole  hillside  seemed  suddenly 
to  vanish,  spruces  and  harebells,  snow-fields 
and  drifting  white  clouds  all  grouping  them- 
selves, like  the  unnoticed  frame  of  a  picture, 
around  a  great  gray  rock  with 
a  huge  shaggy  she-wolf  keeping 
watch  over  it,  silent,  alert, 
motionless. 

Something  stirred  in  the 
shadow  of  the  old  wolf's  watch- 
tower,  tossing  and  eddying  and 
growing  suddenly  quiet,  as  if  the        :       '"•  •- 
wind  were  playing  among  dead  oak  leaves. 
The  keen  young  eyes  saw  it  instantly,  dilat- 
ing with  surprise  and  excitement.    The  next 
instant  they  had  clutched  each  other's  arms. 


34 

' — Woel 
andMooAa 

Jm  -4W>-w 


"  Ooooo !  "  from  Mooka. 
"  Cubs ;  keep  still ! "  from  Noel. 
And  shrinking  close  to  the  rock  under  a 
friendly  dwarf  spruce  they  lay  still  as  two 
rabbits,  watching  with  round  eyes,  eager  but 
unafraid,  the  antics  of  three  brown  wolf  cubs 
that  were  chasing  the  flies  and  tumbling  over 
some  invisible  plaything  before  the  door  of 
the  den. 

Hardly  had  they  made  the  discovery  when 
the  old  wolf  slipped  down  from  the  rock  and 
stood  for  an  instant  over  her  little  ones.  Why 
the  play  should  stop  now,  while  the  breeze 
was  still  their  comrade  and  the  sunshine  was 
brighter  than  ever,  or  why  they  should  steal 
away  into  the  dark  den  more  silently  than 
(,  they  had  come,  none  of  the  cubs  could  tell. 
-  \  They  felt  the  order  and  they  obeyed  instantly 
• — and  that  is  always  the  wonder  of 
watching  little  wild  things  at  play. 
The  old  mother  wolf  vanished  among 
the  rocks  and  appeared  again  higher 
on  the  ridge,  turning  her  head  uneasily 
to  try  every  breeze  and  rustle  and 
moving  shadow.  Then  she 


went  questing  into  the  spruce  woods,  feeling 

but  not   understanding  some  subtle   excite-     .-    .  _ 

ment  in  the  air  that  was  not  there  before, 

and  only  the  two  Indian  children  were  left 

keeping  watch  over  the  great  wild  hillside. 

For  over  an  hour  they  lay  there  expect- 
antly, but  nothing  stirred  near  the  den ;  then 
they  too  slipped  away,  silently  as  the  little 
wild  things,  and  made  their  slow  way  down 
the  brook,  hand  in  hand  in  the  deepening 
shadows.  Scarcely  had  they  gone  when  the 
bushes  stirred  and  the  old  she-wolf,  that  had 
been  ranging  every  ridge  and  valley  since  she 
disappeared  at  the  unknown  alarm,  glided 
over  the  spot  where  a  moment  before  Mooka 
and  Noel  had  been  watching.  Swiftly,  silently 
she  followed  their  steps ;  found  the  old  trails 
coming  up  and  the  fresh  trails  returning; 
then,  sure  at  last  that  no  danger  threatened 
her  own  little  ones,  she  loped  away  up  the 
hill  and  over  the  topmost  ridge  to  the  caribou 
barrens  and  the  thickets  where  young  rabbits 
were  already  stirring  about  in  the  twilight. 

That  night,  in  the  cabin  under  the  cliffs, 
Old  Toman  had  to  rehearse  again  all  the 


wolf  lore  learned  in  sixty  years  of  hunting : 
how,  fortunately  for  the  deer,  these  enormous 
wolves  had  never  been  abundant  and  were 
now  very  rare,  a  few  having  been  shot,  and 
more  poisoned  in  the  starving  times,  and  the 
rest  having  vanished,  mysteriously  as  wolves 
do,  for  some  unknown  reason.  Bears,  which 
are  easily  trapped  and  shot  and  whose  skins 
are  worth  each  a  month's  wages  to  the  fisher- 
men, still  hold  their  own  and  even  increase 
on  the  great  island ;  while  the  wolves,  once 
more  numerous,  are  slowly  vanishing,  though 
they  are  never  hunted  and  not  even  Old 
Tomah  himself  could  set  a  trap  cunningly 
enough  to  catch  one.  The  old  hunter  told, 
while  Mooka  and  Noel  held  their  breaths 
and  drew  closer  to  the  light,  how  once,  when 
he  made  his  camp  alone  under  a  cliff  on  the 
lake  shore,  seven  huge  wolves,  white  as 
the  snow,  came  racing  swift  and 
silent  over  the  ice  straight  at  the 
which  he  had  barely  time  to 
kindle;  how  he  shot 
two,  and  the  others, 
seizing  the  fish  he 


had  just  caught  through  the  ice  for  his  own 

supper,  vanished  over  the  bank ;  and  he  could    _^    ,  _ 

not  say  even  now  whether  they  meant  him 

• 
harm  or  no.    Again,  as  he  talked  and  the  grim 

old  face  lighted  up  at  the  memory,  they  saw 
him  crouched  with  his  sledge-dogs  by  a  blaz- 
ing fire  all  the  long  winter  night,  and  around 
him  in  the  darkness  blazing  points  of  light, 
the  eyes  of  wolves  flashing  back  the  firelight, 
and  gaunt  white  forms  flitting  about  like 
shadows,  drawing  nearer  and  nearer  with  ever- 
growing boldness  till  they  seized  his  largest 
dog  —  though  the  brute  lay  so  near  the  fire 
that  his  hair  singed  —  and  whisked  it  away 
with  an  appalling  outcry.  And  still  again, 
when  Tomah  was  lost  three  days  in  the 
interior,  they  saw  him  wandering  with  his 
pack  over  endless  barrens  and  through 
gloomy  spruce  woods,  and  near  him  all  the 
time  a  young  wolf  that  followed  his  steps 
quietly,  with  half-friendly  interest;  and  came 
no  nearer  day  or  night. 

All  these  things  and  many  more  the  chil- 
dren heard  from  Old  Tomah,  and  among  all 
his  hunting  experiences  and  the  stories  and 


legends  which  he  told  them  there  was  not 
one  to  make  them  afraid.  For  the  horrible 
story  of  Red  Riding  Hood  is  not  known 
among  the  Indians,  who  know  well  how 
untrue  the  tale  is  to  wolf  nature,  and  how 
foolish  it  is  to  frighten  children  with  false 
stories  of  wolves  and  bears,  misrepresent- 
ing them  as  savage  and  bloodthirsty  brutes, 
when  in  truth  they  are  but  shy,  peace-loving 
animals,  whose  only  motive  toward  man, 
except  when  crazed  by  wounds  or  hunger, 
is  one  of  childish  curiosity.  All  these  fero- 
cious animal  stories  have  their  origin  in 
other  centuries  and  in  distant  lands,  where 
they  may  possibly  have  been  true,  but  more 
probably  are  just  as  false  to  animal  nature; 
••  for  they  seem  to  reflect  not  the  shy  animal 
•J  that  men  glimpsed  in  the  woods,  but  rather 
I  the  boastings  of  some  hunter,  who  always 
"  magnifies  his  own  praise  by  increasing  the 
ferocity  of  the  game  he  has  killed,  or  else 
the  pure  imagination  of  some  ancient  nurse 
who  tried  to  increase  her  scant  authority  by 
frightening  her  children  with  te-rrible  tales. 
Here  certainly  the  Indian  attitude  of  kinship, 


gained  by  long  centuries  of  living  near  to 
the  animals  and  watching  them  closely,  comes  _  . 
nearer  to  the  truth  of  things.  That  is  why 
little  Mooka  and  Noel  could  listen  for  hours 
to  Old  Tomah's  animal  stories  and  then  go 
away  to  bed  and  happy  dreams,  longing  for 
the  light  so  that  they  might  be  off  again  to 
watch  at  the  wolf's  den. 

One  thing  only  disturbed  them  for  a 
moment.  Even  these  children  had  wolf 
memories  and  vied  with  Old  Tomah  in 
eagerness  of  telling.  They  remembered  one 
fearful  winter,  years  ago,  when  most  of  the 
families  of  the  little  fishing  village  on  the 
East  Harbor  had  moved  far  inland  to  shel- 
tered cabins  in  the  deep  woods  to  escape  the 
cold  and  the  fearful  blizzards  of  the  coast. 
One  still  moonlit  night,  when  the  snow  lay 
deep  and  the  cold  was  intense  and  all  the 
trees  were  cracking  like  pistols  in  the  frost,  a 
mournful  howling  rose  all  around  their  little 
cabin.  Light  footfalls  sounded  on  the  crust ; 
there  were  scratchings  at  the  very  door  and 
hoarse  breathings  at  every  crack;  while  the 
dogs,  with  hackles  up  straight  and  stiff  on 


their  necks,  fled  howling  under  beds  and 
tables.  And  when  Mooka  and  Noel  went 
fearfully  with  their  mother  to  the  little  win- 
dow—  for  the  men  were  far  away  on  a  cari- 
bou hunt  —  there  were  gaunt  white  wolves, 
five  or  six  of  them,  flitting  restlessly  about  in 
the  moonlight,  scratching  at  the  cracks  and 
even  raising  themselves  on  their  hind  legs 
to  look  in  at  the  little  windows. 

Mooka  shivered  a  bit  when  she  remem- 
bered the  uncanny  scene,  and  felt  again  the 
'/  strong  pressure  of  her  mother's  arms  holding 
her  close ;  but  Old  Tomah  brushed  away  her 
fears  with  a  smile  and  a  word,  as  he  had 
always  done  when,  as  little  children,  they  had 
showed  fear  at  the  thunder  or  the  gale  or 
the  cry  of  a  wild  beast  in  the  night, 
till  they  had  grown  to 
look  upon  all  Nature's 
phenomena  as  hiding  a 
smile  as  kindly  as  that 
of  Old  Tomah  himself, 
who  had  a  face  wrinkled 
and  terribly  grim,  to  be 
sure,  but  who  could 


smile  and  tell  a  story  so  that  every  child  trusted 
him.  The  wolves  were  hungry,  starving  hun- 
gry,  he  said,  and  wanted  only  a  dog,  or  one 
of  the  pigs.  And  Mooka  remembered  with  a 
bright  laugh  the  two  little  unruly  pigs  that 
had  been  taken  inland  as  a  hostage  to  famine, 
and  that  must  be  carefully  guarded  from  the 
teeth  of  hungry  prowlers,  for  they  would  soon 
be  needed  to  keep  the  children  themselves 
from  starving.  Every  night  at  early  sunset, 
when  the  trees  began  to  groan  and  the  keen 
winds  from  the  mountains  came  whispering 
through  the  wroods,  the  two  pigs  were  taken 
into  the  snug  kitchen,  where  with  the  dogs 
they  slept  so  close  to  the  stove  that  she  could 
always  smell  pork  a-frying.  Not  a  husky  dog 
there  but  would  have  killed  and  eaten  one  of 
these  little  pigs  if  he  could  have  caught  him 
around  the  corner  of  the  house  after  nightfall, 
though  you  would  never  have  suspected  it  if 
you  had  seen  them  so  close  together  keep- 
ing each  other  warm  after  the  fire  went  out. 
And  besides  the  dogs  and  the  wolves  there 
were  lynxes — big,  round-headed,  savage-look- 
ing creatures  —  that  came  prowling  out  of  the 


deep  woods  every  night,  hungry  for  a  taste 
of  the  little  pigs ;  and  now  and  then  an  enor- 
mous polar  bear,  that  had  landed  from  an 
iceberg,  would  shuffle  swiftly  and  fearlessly 
among  the  handful  of  little  cabins,  leaving 
his  great  footprints  in  every  yard  and  tearing 
to  pieces,  as  if  made  of  straw,  the  heavy  log 
pens  to  which  some  of  the  fishermen  had 
foolishly  confided  their  pigs  or  sheep.  He 
even  entered  the  woodsheds  and  rummaged 
about  after  a  stray  fishbone  or  an  old  seal- 
skin boot,  making  a  great  rowdydow  in  the 
still  night ;  and  only  the  smell  of  man,  or  the 
report  of  an  old  gun  fired  at  him  by  some 
brave  woman  out  of  the  half-open  window, 
kept  him  from  pushing  his  enormous  weight 
against  the  very  doors  of  the  cabins. 

Thinking  of  all  these  things,  Mooka  for- 
got her  fears  of  the  white  wolves,  remember- 
ing with  a  kind  of  sympathy  how  hungry  all 
these  shy  prowlers  must  be  to  leave  their 
own  haunts,  whence  the  rabbits  and 
seals  had  vanished,  and 
venture  boldly  into  the 
yards  of  men.  As  for 

»— .^ 

**& 


Noel,  he  remembered  with  regret  that  he  was 
too  small  at  the  time  to  use  the  long  bow    __    _ 
which  he  now  carried  on  his  rabbit  and  goose  4   «~      - 

hunts ;  and  as  he  took  it  from  the  wall,  thrum-  - 
ming  its  chord  of  caribou  sinew  and  fingering 
the  sharp  edge  of  a  long  arrow,  he  was  hoping 
for  just  such  another  winter,  longing  to  try 
his  skill  and  strength  on  some  of  these  mid- 
night prowlers  —  a  lynx,  perhaps,  not  to  begin 
too  largely  on  a  polar  bear.  So  there  was  no 
fear  at  all,  but  only  an  eager  wonder,  when 
they  followed  up  the  brook  next  day  to  watch 
at  the  wolf's  den.  And  even  when  Noel  found 
a  track,  a  light  oval  track,  larger  but  more 
slender  than  a  dog's,  in  some  moist  sand  close 
beside  their  own  footprints  and  evidently  fol- 
lowing them,  they  remembered  only  the  young 
wolf  that  had  followed  Tomah  and  pressed  on 
the  more  eagerly. 

Day  after  day  they  returned  to  their  watch- 
tower  on  the  flat  rock,  under  the  dwarf 
spruce  at  the  head  of  the  brook,  and  lying 
there  side  by  side  they  watched  the  play  of 
the  young  wolf  cubs.  Every  day  they  grew 
more  interested  as  the  spirit  of  play  entered 


into  themselves,  understanding  the  gladness 
*f  /  of  the  wild  rough-and-tumble  when  one  of 
the  cubs  lay  in  wait  for  another  and  leaped 
upon  him  from  ambush ;  understanding  also 
something  of  the  feeling  of  the  gaunt  old  she- 
wolf  as  she  looked  down  gravely  from  her 
gray  rock  watching  her  growing  youngsters. 
Once  they  brought  an  old  spy-glass  which 
they  had  borrowed  from  a  fisherman,  and 
through  its  sea-dimmed  lenses  they  made 
out  that  one  of  the  cubs  was  larger  than  the 
other  two,  with  a  droop  at  the  tip  of  his  right 
ear,  like  a  pointed  leaf  that  has  been  creased 
sharply  between  the  fingers.  Mooka  claimed 
that  wolf  instantly  for  her  own,  as  if  they 
were  watching  the  husky  puppies,  and  by  his 
broken  ear  said  she  should  know  him  again 
when  he  grew  to  be  a  big  wolf,  if  he  should 
ever  follow  her,  as  his  father  perhaps  had 
followed  Old  Tomah ;  but  Noel,  thinking  of 
his  bow  and  his  long  arrow  with  the  sharp 
point,  thought  of  the  winter  night  long  ago 
and  hoped  that  his  two  wolves  would  know 
enough  to  keep  away  when  the  pack  came 
again,  for  he  did  not  see  any  way  to  recognize 


"  Watching  her  growing 
youngsters" 


and  spare  them,  especially  in  the  moonlight. 

So  they  lay  there  making  plans  and  dreaming 

dreams,  gentle  or  savage,  for  the  little  cubs  lf*-£/~^ 

that  played  with  the  feathers  and  grasshop-  ^ 

pers  and  cloud  shadows,  all  unconscious  that 

any  eyes  but  their  mother's  saw  or  cared  for  Ji^* 

their  wild,  free  playing. 

Something  bothered  the  old  she-wolf  in 
these  days  of  watching.  The  den  was  still 
secure,  for  no  human  foot  had  crossed  the 
deep  ravine  or  ventured  nearer  than  the 
opposite  hilltop.  Her  nose  told  her  that 
unmistakably ;  but  still  she  was  uneasy,  and 
whenever  the  cubs  were  playing  she  felt, 
without  knowing  why,  that  she  was  being 
watched.  When  she  trailed  over  all  the 
ridges  in  the  twilight,  seeking  to  know  if 
enemies  had  been  near,  she  found  always  the 
scent  of  two  human  beings  on  a  flat  rock 
under  the  dwarf  spruces;  and  there  were 
always  the  two  trails  coming  up  and  going 
down  the  brook.  She  followed  once  close 
behind  the  two  children,  seeing  them  plainly 
all  the  way,  till  they  came  in  sight  of  the 
little  cabin  under  the  cliff,  and  from  the  door 


her  enemy  man  came  out  to  meet  them.  For 
these  two  little  ones,  whose  trail  she  knew, 
^  sne-Wolf,  like  most  mother  animals 
-m  tne  presence  of  children,  felt  no  fear  nor 
enmity  whatever.  But  they  watched  her 
den  and  her  own  little  ones,  that  was  sure 
enough;  and  why  should  any  one  watch  a 
den  except  to  enter  some  time  and  destroy? 
That  is  a  question  which  no  mother  wolf 
could  ever  answer;  for  the  wild  animals, 
unlike  dogs  and  blue  jays  and  men,  mind 
strictly  their  own  business  and  pay  no  atten- 
tion to  other  animals.  They  hate  also  to  be 
watched;  for  the  thought  of  watching  always 
suggests  to  their  minds  that  which  follows, — 
the  hunt,  the  rush,  the  wild  break-away,  and 
the  run  for  life.  Had  she  not  herself  watched 
a  hundred  times  at  the  rabbit's  form,  the 
fox's  runway,  the  deer  path,  the  wild-goose 
nest?  What  could  she  expect  for  her  own 
little  ones,  therefore,  when  the  man  cubs, 
beings  of  larger  reach  and  unknown  power, 
came  daily  to  watch  at  her  den? 

All    this    unanswered    puzzle   must   have 
passed  through  the  old  wolf's  head  as  she 


trotted  up  the  brook  away  from  the  Indian 
cabin  in  the  twilight.  When  in  doubt  trust 
your  fears,  —  that  is  wolf  wisdom  in  a  nut- 
shell ;  and  that  marks  the  difference  between 
a  wolf  and  a  caribou,  for  instance,  which  in 
doubt  trusts  his  nose  or  his  curiosity.  So 
the  old  wolf  took  counsel  of  her  fears  for  her 
little  ones,  and  that  night  carried  them  one 
by  one  in  her  mouth,  as  a  cat  carries  her 
kittens,  miles  away  over  rocks  and  ravines 
and  spruce  thickets,  to  another  den  where  no 
human  eye  ever  looked  upon  their  play. 

"  Shall  we  see  them  again,  little  brother  ?  " 
said  Mooka  wistfully,  when  they  had  climbed 
to  their  watch-tower  for  the  third  time  and 
seen  nothing.  And  Noel  made  confident 
answer : 

"  Oh,  yes,  we  see  um  again,  HI  sister. 
Wayeeses  got  um  wandering  foot ;  go 
'way  off  long  ways; 
bimeby    come    back 
on   same   trail.     He 
jus'  like  In- 
jun,   like 
u  m  old 


49 


Moo/fa 


camp  best.  Oh,  yes,  sartin  we  see  um  again." 
s-^^ft.  But  Noel's  eyes  looked  far  away  as  he  spoke, 
and  in  his  heart  he  was  thinking  of  his  bow 
and  his  long  arrow  with  the  sharp  point,  and 
of  a  moonlit  night  with  white  shapes  flitting 
noiselessly  over  the  snow  and  scratching  at 
the  door  of  the  little  cabin. 


ANEW  experience  had  come  to  the  little 
wolf  cubs  in  a  single  night,  —  the  ex- 
perience of  fear.  For  weeks  they  had  lain  hid 
in  the  dark  den,  or  played  fearlessly  in  the 
bright  sunshine,  guarded  and  kept  at  every 
moment,  day  or  night,  by  the  gaunt  old  mother 
wolf  that  was  their  only  law,  their  only  com- 
panion. At  times  they  lay  for  hours  hungry 
and  restless,  longing  to  go  out  into  the  bright 
world,  yet  obeying  a  stronger  will  than  their 
own,  even  at  a  distance.  For,  once  a  wild 
mother  in  her  own  dumb  way  has  bidden  her 

53 


little  ones  lie  still,  they  rarely  stir  from  the 
spot,  refusing  even  to  be  dragged  away  from 
tne  nest  or  den,  knowing  well  the  punishment 
in  store  j£  slie  return  an(}  fincj  tnem  absent. 

Moreover,  it  is  useless  to  dissimulate,  to  go 
out  and  play  and  then  to  be  sleeping  inno- 
cently with  the  cubs  when  the  old  wolf's 
shadow  darkens  the  entrance.  No  conceal- 
ment is  possible  from  wolf's  nose;  before 
she  enters  the  den  the  mother  knows  per- 
fectly all  that  has  happened  since  she  went 
away.  So  the  days  glided  by  peacefully 
between  sleep  and  play,  the  cubs  trusting 
absolutely  in  the  strength  and  tenderness 
that  watched  over  them,  the  mother  building 
the  cubs'  future  on  the  foundation  of  the  two 
instincts  which  are  strong  in  every  wild 
creature  born  into  a  world  of  danger,  —  the 
instinct  to  lie  still  and  let  nature's  color- 
ing hide  all  defenseless  little  ones,  and  the 
instinct  to  obey  instantly  a  stronger  will 
than  their  own. 

There  was  no  fear  as  yet,  only  instinctive 
wariness ;  for  fear  comes  largely  from  others' 
example,  from  alarms  and  excitement  and 


cries  of  danger,  which  only  the  grown  animals 
understand.     The  old  wolf  had  been  undis- 


55 


.  , 

turbed  ;   no  dog  or  hunter  had  chased  her  ;      vyn  1 

no  trap   or  pitfall   had  entangled  her  swift 

feet.    Moreover,  she  had  chosen  her  den  well, 

where   no  man  had  ever  stood,  and  where 

only  the  eyes  of  two  children  had  seen  her 

at  a  distance.    So  the  little  ones  grew  and 

played  in  the  sunshine,  and  had  yet  to  learn 

what  fear  meant. 

One  day  at  dusk  the  mother  entered  swiftly 
and,  without  giving  them  food  as  she  had 
always  done,  seized  a  cub  and  disappeared. 
For  the  little  one,  which  had  never  before 
ventured  beyond  sight  of  the  den,  it  was  a 
long  journey  indeed  that  followed,  —  miles 
and  miles  beside  roaring  brooks  and  mist- 
filled  ravines,  through  gloomy  woods  where 
no  light  entered,  and  over  bare  ridges  where  y 
the  big  stars  sparkled  just  over  his  ears  as  f 
he    hung,  limp    as   a  rabbit   skin,  from  his' 
mother's  great  jaws.    An  owl  hooted  dismally, 
whoo-hooo  !  and  though  he  knew  the  sound 
well  in  his  peaceful  nights,  it  brought  now 
a  certain  shiver.     The   wind  went  sniffing 


suspiciously  among  the  spruce  branches;  a 
startled  bird  chirped  and  whirred  away  out 
of  their  path;  the  brook  roared  among  the 
rocks;  a  big  salmon  jumped  and  tumbled 
back  with  resounding  splash,  and  jumped 
again  as  if  the  otter  were  after  him.  There 
was  a  sudden  sharp  cry,  the  first  and  last 
voice  of  a  hare  when  the  weasel  rises  up 
in  front  of  him;  then  silence,  and  the  fitful 
rustle  of  his  mother's  pads  moving  steadily, 
swiftly  over  dry  leaves.  And  all  these  sounds 
of  the  wilderness  night  spoke  to  the  little  cub 
of  some  new  thing,  of  swift  feet  that  follow 
and  of  something  unknown  and  terrible  that 
waits  for  all  unwary  wild  things.  So  fear 
was  born. 

The  long  journey  ended  at  last  before  a 
dark  hole  in  the  hillside ;  and  the  smell  of  his 
mother,  the  only  familiar  thing 
in  his  first  strange  pilgrimage, 
greeted  the  cub  from  the  rocks 
on  either  side  as  he  passed  in  out 
of  the  starlight.  He  was  dropped 
without  a  sound  in  a  larger  den, 
on  some  fresh -gathered  leaves 


and  dead  grass,  and  lay  there  all  alone,  very 

still,  with  the  new  feeling  trembling  all  over    _ 

him.    A  long  hour  passed ;  a  second  cub  was  s/ircr 

laid  beside  him,  and  the  mother  vanished  as          N 

before ;  another  hour,  and  the  wolf  cubs  were 

all  together  again  with  the  mother  feeding 

them.     Nor  did  any  of  them  know  where 

they  were,  nor  why  they  had  come,  nor  the 

long,  long  way  that  led  back  to  where  the 

trail  began. 

Next  day  when  they  were  called  out  to 
play  they  saw  a  different  and  more  gloomy 
landscape,  a  chaos  of  granite  rocks,  a  forest 
of  evergreen,  the  white  plunge  and  rolling 
mist  of  a  mountain  torrent ;  but  no  silver  sea 
with  fishing-boats  drifting  over  it,  like  clouds 
in  the  sea  over  their  heads,  and  no  gray  hut 
with  children  running  about  like  ants  on 
the  distant  shore.  And  as  they  played  they 
began  for  the  first  time  to  imitate  the  old 
mother  keeping  guard  over  them,  sitting  up 
often  to  watch  and  listen  and  sift  the  winds, 
trying  to  understand  what  fear  was,  and  why 
they  had  been  taken  away  from  the  sunny 
hillside  where  the  world  was  so  much  bigger 


and  brighter  than  here.  But  home  is  where 
mother  is,  —  that,  fortunately,  is  also  true  of 
the  little  Wood  Folk,  who  understand  it  in 
their  own  savage  way  for  a  season,  —  and  in 
their  wonder  at  their  new  surroundings  the 
memory  of  the  old  home  gradually  faded 
away.  They  never  knew  with  what  endless 
care  the  new  den  had  been  chosen ;  how  the 
mother,  in  the  days  when  she  knew  she  was 
watched,  had  searched  it  out  and  watched 
over  it  and  put  her  nose  to  every  ridge  and 
ravine  and  brook-side,  day  after  day,  till  she 
was  sure  that  no  foot  save  that  of  the  wild 
things  had  touched  the  soil  within  miles  of 
the  place.  They  felt  only  a  greater  wildness,  a 
deeper  solitude ;  and  they  never  forgot,  though 
they  were  unmolested,  the  strange  feeling  that 
was  born  in  them  on  that  first  terrifying  night 
journey  in  their  mother's  jaws. 

Soon  the  food  that  was  brought  home  at 
dawn  —  the  rabbit  or  grouse,  or  the  bunch  of 
rats  hanging  by  their  tails,  with  which  the 
mother  supplemented  their  midday  drink  of 
milk  —  became  altogether  too  scant  to  satisfy 


their  clamorous  appetites;  and  in  the  bright 

afternoons   and  the  long  summer   twilights 

the  mother  led  them  forth  on  short  journeys      rwi  _    ~f 

to    hunt   for    themselves.     No    big    caribou 

or  cunning  fox  cub,  as  one  might  suppose, 

but   "  rats  and   mice  and  such  small  deer " 

were  the  limit  of  the  mother's  ambition  for 

her  little  ones.    They  began  on  stupid  grubs 

that  one  could  find  asleep  under  stones  and 

roots,  and  then  on   beetles  that   scrambled 

away  briskly  at  the  first   alarm,  and  then, 

when  the  sunshine  was  brightest,  on 

grasshoppers,  —  lively,  wary  fellows 

that  zipped  and  buzzed  away  just 

when  you  were  sure  you  had 

them,  and  that  generally  landed 

from  an   astounding  jump   facing  in   a 

different  direction,  like  a  flea,  so  as   to  be 

ready  for  your  next  move. 

It  was  astonishing  how  quickly  the  cubs 
learned  that  game  is  not  to  be  picked  up 
tamely,  like  huckleberries,  and  changed  their 
style  of  hunting, — creeping,  instead  of  trot- 
ting openly  so  that  even  a  porcupine  must 
notice  them,  hiding  behind  rocks  and  bushes 


and  tufts  of  grass  till  the  precise  moment 
came,  and  then  leaping  with  the  swoop  of  a 
goshawk  on  a  ptarmigan.  A  wolf  that  cannot 
catch  a  grasshopper  has  no  business  hunting 
rabbits  —  this  seemed  to  be  the  unconscious 
motive  that  led  the  old  mother,  every  sunny 
afternoon,  to  ignore  the  thickets  where  game 
was  hiding  plentifully  and  take  her  cubs  to 
the  dry,  sunny  plains  on  the  edge  of  the 
caribou  barrens.  There  for  hours  at  a  time 
they  hunted  elusive  grasshoppers,  rushing 
helter-skelter  over  the  dry  moss,  leaping  up 
to  strike  at  the  flying  game  with  their  paws 
like  a  kitten,  or  snapping  wildly  to  catch  it 
in  their  mouths  and  coming  down  with  a 
back-breaking  wriggle  to  keep  themselves 
from  tumbling  over  on  their  heads.  Then 
on  again,  with  a  droll  expression  and  noses 
sharpened  like  exclamation  points,  to  find 
another  grasshopper. 

Small  business  indeed  and  often  ludicrous, 

this  playing  at  grasshopper  hunting.     So  it 

seems  to  us ;  so  also,  perhaps,  to  the  wise  old 

mother,  which  knew  all  the  ways  of  game, 

i  from  crickets  to   caribou  and  from  ground 


sparrows  to  wild  geese.  But  play  is  the  first 
great  educator,  —  that  is  as  true  of  animals  as 
of  men,  —  and  to  the  cubs  their  rough  helter- 
skelter  after  hoppers  was  as  exciting  as  a 
stag  hunt  to  the  pack,  as  full  of  surprises  as 
the  wild  chase  through  the  soft  snow  after 
a  litter  of  lynx  kittens.  And  though  they 
knew  it  not,  they  were  learning  things  every 
hour  of  the  sunny,  playful  afternoons  that 
they  would  remember  and  find  useful  all  the 
days  of  their  life. 

So  the  funny  little  hunt  went  on,  the 
mother  watching  gravely  under  a  bush  where 
she  was  inconspicuous,  and  the  cubs,  full  of 
zest  and  inexperience,  missing  the  flying  tid- 
bits more  often  than  they  swallowed  them, 
until  they  learned  at  last  to  locate  all  game 
accurately  before  chasing  or  alarming  it ;  and 
that  is  the  rule,  learned  from  hunting  grass- 
hoppers, which  a  wolf  follows  ever  afterward. 
Even  after  they  knew  just  where  the  grass- 
hopper was  hiding,  watching  them  after  a 
jump,  and  leaped  upon  him  swiftly  from  a 
distance,  he  often  got  away  when  they  lifted 
their  paws  to  eat  him.  For  the  grasshopper 


was  not  dead  under  the  light  paw,  as  they 
supposed,  but  only  pressed  into  the  moss 
waiting  for  his  chance  to  jump.  Then  the 
^<  cubs  learned  another  lesson:  to  hold  their 
game  dow-n  with  both  paws  pressed  closely 
together,  inserting  their  noses  like  a  wedge 
and  keeping  every  crack  of  escape  shut  tight 
until  they  had  the  slippery  morsel  safe  under 
their  back  teeth.  And  even  then  it  was  deli- 
ciously  funny  to  watch  their  expression  as 
they  chewed,  opening  their  jaws  wide  as  if 
swallowing  a  rabbit,  snapping  them  shut  again 
as  the  grasshopper  \viggled;  and  always  with 
a  doubt  in  their  close-set  eyes,  a  questioning 
twist  of  head  and  ears,  as  if  they  were  not 
quite  sure  whether  or  not  they  were  really 
eating  him. 

Another  suggestive  thing  came  out  in 
these  hunts,  which  you  must  notice  whether 
you  watch  wolves  or  coyotes  or  a  den  of 
fox  cubs.  Though  no  sound  came  from  the 
watchful  old  mother,  the  cubs  seemed  at 
every  instant  under  absolute  control.  One 
would  rush  away  pell-mell  after  a  hopper, 
miss  him  and  tumble  away  again,  till  he  was 


some  distance  from  the  busy  group  on  the 
edge  of  the  big  lonely  barren.  In  the  midst 
of  his  chase  the  mother  would  raise  her  head 
and  watch  the  cub  intently.  No  sound  was 
uttered  that  human  ears  could  hear;  but  the 
chase  ended  right  there,  on  the  instant,  and 
the  cub  came  trotting  back  like  a  well-broken 
setter  at  the  whistle.  It  was  marvelous  be- 
yond comprehension,  this  absolute  author- 
ity and  this  silent  command  that  brought  a 
wolf  back  instantly  from  the  wildest  chase, 
and  that  kept  the  cubs  all  together  under 
the  watchful  eyes  that  followed  every  move- 
ment. No  wonder  wolves  are  intelligent  in 
avoiding  every  trap  and  in  hunting  together 
to  outwit  some  fleet-footed  quarry  with  unbe- 
lievable cunning.  Here  on  the  edge  of  the 
vast,  untrodden  barren,  far  from  human  eyes, 
in  an  ordinary  family  of  wolf  cubs  playing 
wild  and  free,  eager,  headstrong,  hungry,  yet 
always  under  control  and  instantly  subject  to 
a  wiser  head  and  a  stronger  will  than  their 
own,  was  the  explanation  of  it  all.  Later,  in 
the  bitter,  hungry  winter,  when  a  big  caribou 
was  afoot  and  the  pack  hot  on  his  trail,  the 


cubs  would  remember  the  lesson,  and  every 
free  wolf  would  curb  his  hunger,  obeying  the 
silent  signal  to  ease  the  game  and  follow 
slowly  while  the  leader  raced  unseen  through 
the  woods  to  head  the  game  and  lie  in  am- 
bush by  the  distant  runway. 

From  grasshoppers  the  cubs  took  to  hunt- 
ing the  wood-mice  that  nested  in  the  dry 
moss  and  swarmed  on  the  edges  of  every 
thicket.  This  was  keener  hunting;  for  the 
wood-mouse  moves  like  a  ray  of  light,  and 
always  makes  at  least  one  false  start  to  mis- 
lead any  that  may  be  watching  for  him. 
The  cubs  soon  learned  that  when  Tookhees 
appeared  and  dodged  back  again,  as  if  fright- 
ened, it  was  not  because  he  had  seen  them, 
but  just  because  he  always  appears  that  way. 
So  they  crouched  and  hid,  like  a  cat,  and 
when  a  gray  streak  shot  over  the  gray  moss 
and  vanished  in  a  tuft  of  grass  they  leaped 
for  the  spot  —  and  always  found  it  vacant. 
For  Tookhees  always  doubles  on  his  trail,  or 
burrows  for  a  distance  under  the  moss,  and 
never  hides  where  he  disappears.  It  took 
the  cubs  a  long  while  to  find  that  out;  and 


then  they  would  creep  and  watch  and  listen     - 

till  they  could   locate   the   game  by  a  stir    ,_      -  - 

under  the  moss,  and   pounce   upon   it   and  /////•    ^ 

nose  it  out  from  between  their  paws,  just  as          N 

they  had  done  with  the  grasshoppers.     And 

when  they  crunched  it  at  last  like  a  ripe  plum 

under  their  teeth  it  was  a  delicious  tidbit, 

worth   all    the    trouble    they   had   taken   to 

get  it.     For  your  wolf,  unlike  the  ferocious, 

grandmother-eating  creature  of  the  nursery, 

is  at  heart  a  peaceable  fellow,  most  at  home 

and  most  happy  when  mouse  hunting. 

There  was  another  kind  of  this  mouse 
chasing  which  furnished  better  sport  and 
more  juicy  mouthfuls  to  the  young  cubs. 
Here  and  there  on  the  Newfoundland  moun- 
tains the  snow  lingers  all  summer  long.  In 
every  northern  hollow  of  the  hills  you  see, 
from  a  distance,  white  patches  no  bigger  than 
your  hat  sparkling  in  the  sun ;  but  when  you 
climb  there,  after  bear  or  caribou,  you  find 
great  snow-fields,  acres  in  extent  and  from 
ten  to  a  hundred  feet  deep,  packed  close  and 
hard  with  the  pressure  of  a  thousand  winters. 
Often  when  it  rains  in  the  valleys,  and  raises 


66 


the  salmon  rivers  to  meet  your  expectations, 
a  thin  covering  of  new  snow  covers  these 
white  fields ;  and  then,  if  you  go  there,  you 
zz£~"  will  find  the  new  page  written  all  over  with 
the  feet  of  birds  and  beasts.  The  mice  espe- 
cially love  these  snow-fields  for  some  un- 
known reason.  All  along  the  edges  you  find 
the  delicate,  lacelike  tracery  which  shows 
where  little  feet  have  gone  on  busy  errands 
or  played  together  in  the  moonlight ;  and  if 
you  watch  there  awhile  you  will  surely  see 
Tookhees  come  out  of  the  moss  and  scamper 
across  a  bit  of  snow  and  dive  back  to  cover 
under  the  moss  again,  as  if  he  enjoyed  the 
feeling  of  the  cold  snow  under  his  feet  in 
the  summer  sunshine.  He  has  tunnels  there, 
too,  going  down  to  solid  ice,  where  he  hides 
things  to  keep  which  would  spoil  if  left  in 
the  heat  of  his  den  under  the  mossy  stone, 
and  when  food  is  scarce  he  draws  upon  these 
cold-storage  rooms ;  but  most  of  his  summer 
snow  journeys,  if  one  may  judge  from  watch- 
ing him  and  from  following  his  tracks,  are 
taken  for  play  or  comfort,  just  as  the  bull 
caribou  comes  up  to  lie  in  the  snow,  with 


the  strong  sea  wind  in  his  face,  to  escape 
the  flies  which  swarm  in  the  thickets  below. 
Owl  and  hawk,  fox  and  weasel  and  wildcat, 
—  all  the  prowlers  of  the  day  and  night  have 
long  since  discovered  these  good  hunting- 
grounds  and  leave  the  prints  of  wing  and 
claw  over  the  records  of  the  wood-mice ;  but 
still  Tookhees  returns,  led  by  his  love  of  the 
snow-fields,  and  thrives  and  multiplies  spite 
of  all  his  enemies. 

One  moonlit  night  the  old  wolf  took 
her  cubs  to  the  edge  of  one  of  these  snow- 
fields,  where  the  eager  eyes  soon  noticed 
dark  streaks  shooting  hither  and  yon  over 
the  bare  white  surface.  At  first  they 
chased  them  wildly;  but  one  might  as  well 
try  to  catch  a  moonbeam,  which  has  not 
so  many  places  to  hide  as  a  wood-mouse. 
Then,  remembering  the  grasshoppers,  they 
crouched  and  crept  and  so  caught  a  few. 
Meanwhile  old  mother  wolf  lay  still  in  hid- 
ing, contenting  herself  with  snapping  up  the 
game  that  came  to  her,  instead  of  chasing  it 
wildly  all  over  the  snow-field.  The  example 
was  not  lost ;  for  imitation  is  strong  among 


intelligent  animals,  and  most  of  what  they 
learn  is  due  simply  to  following  the  mother. 
Soon  the  cubs  were  still,  one  lying  here  under 
shadow  of  a  bush,  another  there  by  a  gray 
rock  that  lifted  its  head  out  of  the  snow. 
As  a  dark  streak  moved  nervously  by  one  of 
these  hiding-places  there  would  be  a  rush, 
a  snap,  the  pchap  pchap  of  jaws  crunching  a 
delicious  morsel;  then  all  quiet  again,  with 
only  gray,  innocent-looking  shadows  resting 
softly  on  the  snow.  So  they  moved  gradu- 
ally along  the  edges  of  the  great  white  field; 
and  next  morning  the  tracks  were  all  there, 
plain  as  daylight,  telling  their  silent  story  of 
good  hunting. 

To  vary  their  diet  the  mother  now  took 
them  down  to  the  shore  to  hunt  among  the 
rocks  for  ducks'  eggs.  They  were  there  by 
the  hundreds,  scattered  along  the  lonely  bays 
just  above  high-water  line,  where  the  eiders 
had  their  nests. 

At  first  old  mother  wolf  showed  them 
where  to  look,  and  when  she  had  found  a 
clutch  of  eggs  would  divide  them  fairly, 
keeping  the  hungry  cubs  in  order  at  a  little 


distance  and  bringing  each  one  his  share, 
which  he  ate  without  interference.  Then 
when  they  understood  the  thing  they  scat- 
tered nimbly  to  hunt  for  themselves,  and  the 
real  fun  began. 

Now  a  cub,  poking  his  nose  industri- 
ously into  every  cranny  and  under  every 
thick  bush,  would  find  a  great  roll  of  down 
plucked  from  the  mother  bird's  breast,  and 
scraping  the  top  off  carefully  with  his  paw, 
would  find  five  or  six  large  pale-green  eggs, 
which  he  gobbled  down,  shells,  ducklings 
and  all,  before  another  cub  should  smell  the 
good  find  and  caper  up  to  share  it.  Again 
he  would  be  startled  out  of  his  wits  as  a  large 
brown  bird  whirred  and  fluttered  away 
from  under  his  very  nose.  Sitting  on  J\ 
his  tail  he  would  watch  her  with  comi- 
cal regret  and  longing  till  she  tum- 
bled into  the  tide  and  drifted  swiftly  I ., 
away  out  of  danger ;  then,  remember- 
ing what  he  came  for,  he  would  turn 
and  follow  her  trail  back  to  the  nest 
out  of  which  she  had  stolen 
at  his  approach,  and  find 


the  eggs  all  warm  for  his  breakfast.  And 
when  he  had  eaten  all  he  wanted  he  would 
take  an  egg  in  his  mouth  and  run  about  un- 
easily here  and  there,  like  a  dog  with  a  bone 
when  he  thinks  he  is  watched,  till  he  had 
made  a  sad  crisscross  of  his  trail  and  found 
a  spot  where  none  could  see  him.  There  he 
would  dig  a  hole  and  bury  his  egg  and  go 
back  for  more ;  and  on  his  way  would  meet 
another  cub  running  about  with  an  egg  in 
his  mouth,  looking  for  a  spot  where  no  one 
would  notice  him. 

From  mice  and  eggs  the  young  cubs  turned 
to  rabbits  and  hares ;  and  these  were  their 
staple  food  ever  afterward  when  other  game 
was  scarce  and  the  wood-mice  were  hidden 
deep  under  the  winter  snows,  safe  at  last  for 
a  little  season  from  all  their  enemies.  Here 
for  the  first  time  the  father  wolf  appeared, 
coming  in  quietly  one  late  afternoon,  as  if  he 
knew,  as  he  probably  did,  just  when  he  was 
needed.  Beyond  a  glance  he  paid  no  attention 
whatever  to  the  cubs,  only  taking  his  place 
opposite  the  mother  as  the  wolves  started 
abreast  in  a  long  line  to  beat  the  thicket. 


By  night  the  cubs  had  already  caught 
several  rabbits,  snapping  them  up  as  they 
played  heedlessly  in  the  moonlight,  just  as 
they  had  done  with  the  wood-mice.  By  day, 
however,  the  hunting  was  entirely  different. 
Then  the  hares  and  rabbits  are  resting  in 
their  hidden  forms  under  the  ferns,  or  in  a 
hollow  between  the  roots  of  a  brown  stump. 
Like  game  birds,  whether  on  the  nest  or 
sitting  quiet  in  hiding,  the  rabbits  give  out 
far  less  scent  at  such  times  than  when  they 
are  active ;  and  the  cubs,  stealing  through 
the  dense  cover  like  shadows  in  imitation  cf 
the  old  wolves,  and  always  hunting  up-wind, 
would  use  their  keen  noses  to  locate  Mok- 
taques  before  alarming  him.  If  a  cub  suc- 
ceeded, and  snapped  up  a  rabbit  before  the 
surprised  creature  had  time  to  gather  head- 
way, he  dropped  behind  with  his  catch,  while 
the  rest  went  slowly,  carefully,  on  through 
the  cover.  If  he  failed,  as  was  generally  the 
case  at  first,  a  curious  bit  cf  wolf  intelligence 
and  wolf  training  came  out  at  once. 

As  the  wolves  advanced  the  father  and 
mother  would  steal  gradually  ahead  at  either 


end  of  the  line,  rarely  hunting  themselves, 
but  drawing  the  nearest  cub's  attention  to 
any  game  they  had  discovered,  and  then 
moving  silently  to  one  side  and  a  little  ahead 
to  watch  the  result.  When  the  cub  rushed 
and  missed,  and  the  startled  rabbit  went  fly- 
ing away,  whirling  to  left  or  right  as  rabbits 
always  do,  there  would  be  a  lightning  change 
at  the  end  of  the  line.  A  terrific  rush,  a  snap 
of  the  long  jaws  like  a  steel  trap,  —  then  the 
old  wolf  would  toss  back  the  rabbit  with 
a  broken  back  for  the  cub  to  finish  him. 
Not  till  the  cubs  first,  and  then  the  mother, 
had  satisfied  their  hunger  would  the  old  he- 
wolf  hunt  for  himself.  Then  he  would  dis- 
appear, and  they  would  not  see  him  for  days 
at  a  time,  until  food  was  scarce  and  they 
needed  him  once  more. 

One  day,  when  the  cubs  were  hungry  and 
food  scarce  because  of  their  persistent  hunt- 
ing near  the  den,  the  mother  brought  them 
to  the  edge  of  a  dense  thicket  where  rab- 
bits were  plentiful  enough,  but  where  the 
cover  was  so  thick  that  they  could  not  follow 
the  frightened  game  for  an  instant.  The  old 


he-wolf  had  appeared  at  a  distance  and  then 
vanished ;  and  the  cubs,  trotting  along  behind 
the  mother,  knew  nothing  of  what  was  com- 
ing or  what  was  expected  of  them.  They 
lay  in  hiding  on  the  lee  side  of  the  thicket, 
each  one  crouching  under  a  bush  or  root, 
with  the  mother  off  at  one  side  perfectly  hid- 
den as  usual. 

Presently  a  rabbit  appeared,  hopping  along 
in  a  crazy  way,  and  ran  plump  into  the  jaws 
of  a  wolf  cub,  which  leaped  up  as  if  out 
of  the  ground,  and  pulled  down  his  game 
from  the  very  top  of  the  high  jump  which 
Moktaques  always  gives  when  he  is  suddenly 
startled.  Another  and  another  rabbit  ap- 
peared mysteriously,  and  doubled  back  into 
the  cover  before  they  could  be  caught.  The 
cubs  were  filled  with  wonder.  Such  hunting 
was  never  seen  before;  for  rabbits  stirred 
abroad  by  day,  and  ran  right  into  the  hungry  ^ 
mouths  instead  of  running  away. 
Then,  slinking  along  like  a  shadow 
and  stopping  to  look  back  and  sniff 
the  wind,  appeared  a  big  red  fox 
that  had  been  sleeping  away 


73 

The  Way  of 


afternoon  on  top  of  a  stump  in  the  center  of 
the  thicket. 

The  old  mother's  eyes  began  to  blaze  as 
Eleemos  drew  near.  There  was  a  rush,  swift 
and  sudden  as  the  swoop  of  an  eagle ;  a  sharp 
call  to  follow  as  the  mother's  long  jaws  closed 
over  the  small  of  the  back,  just  as  the  fox 
turned  to  leap  away.  Then  she  flung  the  par- 
alyzed animal  back  like  a  flash ;  the  young 
wolves  tumbled  in  upon  him ;  and  before  he 
knew  \vhat  had  happened  Eleemos  the  Sly 
One,  was  stretched  out  straight,  with  one  cub 
at  his  tail  and  another  at  his  throat,  tug- 
ging and  worrying  and  grumbling  deep  in 
their  chests  as  the  lust  of  their  first  fighting 
swept  over  them.  Then  in  vague,  vanishing 
glimpses  the  old  he-wolf  appeared,  quarter- 
ing swiftly,  silently,  back  and  forth  through 
the  thicket,  driving  every  living  thing  down- 
wind to  where  the  cubs  and  the  mother  were 
waiting  to  receive  it. 

That  one  lesson  was  enough  for  the  cubs, 
though  years  would  pass  before  they  could 
learn  all  the  fine  points  of  this  beating  the 
bush :  to  know  almost  at  a  glance  where  the 


"  As  the  mother's  long  jaws  closed  over 
the  small  of  the  back" 


OJo/f 


game,  whether  grouse  or  hare  or  fox  or  luci- 
vee,  was  hiding  in  the  cover,  and  then  for 
one  wolf  to  drive  it,  slowly  or  swiftly  as  the  ^  *  -^ 
case  might  require,  while  the  other  hid  beside 
the  most  likely  path  of  escape.  A  family 
of  grouse  must  be  coaxed  along  and  never 
see  what  is  driving  them,  else  they  will  flit 
into  a  tree  and  be  lost ;  while  a  cat  must  be 
startled  out  of  her  wits  by  a  swift  rush,  and 
sent  flying  away  before  she  can  make  up  her 
stupid  mind  what  the  row  is  all  about.  A 
fox,  almost  as  cunning  as  Wayeeses  himself, 
must  be  made  to  think  that  some  dog  enemy 
is  slowly  puzzling  out  his  cold  trail;  while 
a  musquash  searching  for  bake-apples,  or  a 
beaver  going  inland  to  cut  wood  for  his  win- 
ter supplies  of  bark,  must  not  be  driven,  but 
be  followed  up  swiftly  by  the  path  or  canal 
by  which  he  has  ventured  away  from  the 
friendly  water. 

All  these  and  many  more  things  must  be 
learned  slo\vly  at  the  expense  of  many  fail- 
ures, especially  when  the  cubs  took  to  hunt- 
ing alone  and  the  old  wolves  were  not  there 
to  show  them  how ;  but  they  never  forgot  the 


principle  taught  in  that  first  rabbit  drive, — 
that  two  hunters  are  better  than  one  to  out- 
wit any  game  when  they  hunt  intelligently 
together.  That  is  why  you  so  often  find 
wolves  going  in  pairs ;  and  when  you  study 
them  or  follow  their  tracks  you  discover  that 
they  play  continually  into  each  other's  hands. 
They  seem  to  share  the  spoil  as  intelligently 
as  they  catch  it,  the  wolf  that  lies  beside 
the  runway  and  pulls  down  the  game  giving 
up  a  portion  gladly  to  the  companion  that 
beats  the  bush,  and  rarely  indeed  is  there 
any  trace  of  quarreling  between  them. 

Like  the  eagles  —  which  have  long  since 
learned  the  advantage  of  hunting  in  pairs 
and  of  scouting  for  game  in  single  file  — 
the  wolves,  when  hunting  deer  on  the  open 
barrens  where  it  is  difficult  to  conceal  their 
advance,  always  travel  in  files,  one  following 
*  close  behind  the  other ;  so  that,  seen  from  in 
JL J-  front  where  the  game  is  watching,  two  or 
three  wolves  will  appear  like  a  lone  ani- 
:'.:;?  mal  trotting  across  the  plain.  That 
alarms  the  game  far  less  at  first ;  and 
not  until  the  deer  starts  away  does 


vsr- 


the  second  wolf  appear,  shooting  out  from 

behind  the   leader.     The    sight   of    another  ~ 

wolf  appearing  suddenly  on  his  flank  throws   '"&  Wdy  Of 

a  young  deer  into  a  panic,  in  which  he  is      *"•&"    *>  « 

apt  to  lose  his  head  and  be  caught  by  the 

cunning  hunters. 

Curiously  enough,  the  plains  Indians,  who 
travel  in  the  same  way  when  hunting  or 
scouting  for  enemies,  first  learned  the  trick 
—  so  an  old  chief  told  me,  and  it  is  one  of 
the  traditions  of  his  people  —  from  watch- 
ing the  timber  wolves  in  their  stealthy  ad- 
vance over  the  open  places. 

The  wolves  were  stealing  through  the 
woods  all  together,  one  late  summer  after- 
noon, having  beaten  a  cover  without  taking 
anything,  when  the  puzzled  cubs  suddenly 
found  themselves  alone.  A  moment  before 
they  had  been  trotting  along  with  the  old 
wolves,  nosing  every  cranny  and  knot  hole 
for  mice  and  grubs,  and  stopping  often  for  a 
roll  and  frolic,  as  young  cubs  do  in  the  glad- 
ness of  life ;  now  they  pressed  close  together, 
looking,  listening,  while  a  subtle  excitement 
filled  all  the  woods.  For  the  old  wolves  had 


go     disappeared,  shooting  ahead  in  great,  silent 
^     bounds,    while    the    cubs    waited    with    ears 
Y\ygff  cocked  and   noses    quivering,  as  if  a  silent 


command  had  been  understood. 


s^ence  was  intense  ;  not  a  sound,  not 
a  stir  in  the  quiet  woods,  which  seemed  to  be 
listening  with  the  cubs  and  to  be  filled  with 
the  same  thrilling  expectation.  Suddenly 
the  silence  was  broken  by  heavy  plunges  far 
ahead,  crash  !  bump  !  bump  !  and  there  l^oke 
forth  such  an  uproar  of  yaps  and  howls  as 
the  cubs  had  never  heard  before.  Instantly 
they  broke  away  on  the  trail,  joining  their 
shrill  yelpings  to  the  clamor,  so  different 
from  the  ordinary  stealthy  wolf  hunt,  and 
filled  with  a  nameless  excitement  which  they 
did  not  at  all  understand  till  the  reek  of 
caribou  poured  into  their  hungry  nostrils; 
whereupon  they  yelped  louder  than  ever. 
But  they  did  not  begin  to  understand  the 
matter  till  they  caught  glimpses  of  gray 
backs  bounding  hither  and  yon  in  the 
underbrush,  while  the  two  great  wolves 
raced  easily  on  either  side,  yapping  sharply 
to  increase  the  excitement,  and  guiding  the 


startled,   foolish    deer   as    surely,    as    intelli-     ~ 
gently,  as  a  pair  of  collies  herd  a   flock  of 
frightened  sheep. 

When   the  cubs  broke  out   of    the   dense 
cover  at  last  they  found  the  two  old  wolves 
sitting  quietly  on  their  tails  before  a  rugged 
wall  of  rocks  that  stretched  away  on  either 
hand  at   the  base  of  a  great  bare  hill.    In 
front    of   them    was    a  young    cow   caribou, 
threatening  savagely  with  horns  and  hoofs, 
while  behind   her   cowered    two   half-grown 
fawns  crowded  into  a  crevice  of  the  rocks. 
Anger,  rather  than  fear,  blazed  out  in  the 
mother's  mild  eyes.     Now  she  turned  swiftly 
to  press  her  excited  young  ones  back  against  V 
the  sheltering  wall ;  now  she  whirled  with  a  {•. 
savage  grunt  and  charged  headlong  at  the  :V 
wolves,  which  merely  leaped  aside  and  sat  •;• 
down  silently  again  to  watch  the  game,  till  £ :.'-T 
the   cubs   raced    out    and    hovered    uneasily  £ 
about  with  a  thousand  questions  in  every  eye 
and  ear  and  twitching  nostril.  -> 

The  reason  for  the  hunt 
was  now  plain    a^lr1^]^ 

r  aHffWOT 

enough. 


Way  of 
OJo/f 


Up  to  this  time  the  caribou  had  been  let 
severely  alone,  though  they  were  very  nu- 
merous, scattered  through  the  dense  coverts 
in  every  valley  and  on  every  hillside.  For 
Wayeeses  is  no  wanton  killer,  as  he  is  so 
often  represented  to  be,  but  sticks  to  small 
game  whenever  he  can  find  it,  and  leaves 
the  deer  unmolested.  As  for  his  motive 
in  the  matter,  who  shall  say,  since  no  one 
understands  the  half  of  what  a  wolf  does 
every  day?  Perhaps  it  is  a  mere  matter  of 
taste,  a  preference  for  the  smaller  and  more 
juicy  tidbits;  more  likely  it  is  a  combina- 
tion of  instinct  and  judgment,  with  a  possible 
outlook  for  the  future  unusual  with  beasts 
of  prey.  The  moment  the  young  wolves 
take  to  harrying  the  deer  —  as  they  invari- 
ably do  if  the  mother  wolf  be  not  with  them 
—  the  caribou  leave  the  country.  The  herds 
become,  moreover,  so  wild  and  suspicious 
after  a  very  little  wolf  hunting  that  they  are 
exceedingly  difficult  of  approach ;  and  there 
is  no  living  thing  on  earth,  not  even  a  white 
wolf  or  a  trained  greyhound,  that  can  tire  or 
overtake  a  startled  caribou.  The  swinging 


rack  of  these  big  white  wanderers  looks  easy 

enough  when  you  see  it ;  but  when  the  fleet  f 

staghounds  are  slipped,  as  has   been  more     ~?    T/i^,*   r 

than  once  tested  in   Newfoundland,  try  as 

hard  as  they  will  they  cannot  keep  withii 

sight  of  the  deer  for  a  single  quarter-mile, 

and  no  limit  has  ever  yet  been  found,  either 

by  dog  or  wolf,  to  Megaleep's  tirelessness. 

So  the  old    wolves,   relying   possibly    upon 

past   experience,    keep    the    cubs   and    hold 

themselves  strictly  to  small  game  as  long  as 

it  can  possibly  be  found.     Then  when  the 

bitter  days  of  late  winter  come,  with  their 

scarcity  of  small  game  and  their  unbearable 

hunger,  the  wolves  turn  to  the  caribou  as 

a  last  resort,  killing  a  few  here  by  stealth, 

rather  than  speed,  and  then,  when  the  game 

grows  wild,  going  far  off  to  another  range 

where  the  deer  have  not  been  disturbed  and 

so  can  be  approached  more  easily. 

On  this  afternoon,  however,  the  old  mother 
wolf  had  run  plump  upon  the  caribou  and 
her  fawns  in  the  midst  of  a  thicket,  and  had 
leaped  forward  promptly  to  round  them  up 
for  her  hungry  cubs.  It  would  have  been 


the  easiest  matter  in  the  world  for  an  old 
wolf  to  hamstring  one  of  the  slow  fawns,  or 
the  mother  caribou  herself  as  she  hovered 
in  the  rear  to  defend  her  young;  but  there 
were  other  thoughts  in  the  shaggy  gray  head 
that  had  seen  so  much  hunting.  So  the 
mother  wolf  drove  the  deer  slowly,  puzzling 
them  more  and  more,  as  a  collie  distracts 
the  herd  by  his  yapping,  out  into  the  open 
where  her  cubs  might  join  in  the  hunting. 

The  wolves  now  drew  back,  all  save  the 
mother,  which  advanced  hesitatingly  to  where 
the  caribou  stood  with  lowered  head  watch- 
ing every  move.  Suddenly  the  cow  charged, 
so  swiftly,  furiously,  that  the  old  wolf  seemed 
almost  caught,  and  tumbled  away  with  the 
broad  hoofs  striking  savagely  at  her  flanks. 
Farther  and  farther  the  caribou  drove  her 
enemy,  roused  now  to  frenzy  at  the  wolf's 
nearness  and  apparent  cowardice.  Then  she 
whirled  in  a  panic  and  rushed  back  to  her 
little  ones,  only  to  find  that  all  the  other 
wolves,  as  if  frightened  by  her  furious 
charge,  had  drawn  farther  back  from 
the  cranny  in  the  rocks. 


Again  the  old  she-wolf  approached  cau- 
tiously, and  again  the  caribou  plunged  at  her 
and  followed  her  lame  retreat  with  headlong 
fury.  An  electric  shock  seemed  suddenly  jp^fi^^-^f/, 
to  touch  the  huge  he-wolf.  Like  a  flash  he 
leaped  in  on  the  fawns.  One  quick  snap  of 
the  long  jaws  with  the  terrible  fangs ;  then, 
as  if  the  whole  thing  were  a  bit  of  play,  he 
loped  away  easily  with  the  cubs,  circling  to 
join  the  mother  wolf,  which  strangely  enough 
did  not  return  to  the  attack  as  the  caribou 
charged  back,  driving  the  cubs  and  the  old 
he-wolf  away  like  a  flock  of  sheep.  The 
coast  was  now  clear,  not  an  enemy  in  the 
way;  and  the  mother  caribou,  with  a  trium- 
phant bleat  to  her  fawns  to  follow,  plunged 
back  into  the  woods  whence  she  had  come. 

One  fawn  only  followed  her.  The  other 
took  a  step  or  two,  sank  to  his  knees,  and 
rolled  over  on  his  side.  When  the  wolves 
drew  near  quietly,  without  a  trace  of  the 
ferocity  or  the  howling  clamor  with  which 
such  scenes  are  usually  pictured,  the  game 
was  quite  dead,  one  quick  snap  of  the  old 
wolfs  teeth  just  behind  the  fore  legs  having 


(Oayof 


g ,  pierced  the  heart  more  surely  than  a  hunter's 
bullet.  And  the  mother  caribou,  plunging 
wildly  away  through  the  brush  with  the 
startled  fawn  jumping  at  her  heels,  could 
not  know  that  her  mad  flight  was  needless ; 
that  the  terrible  enemy  which  had  spared 
her  and  let  her  go  free  had  no  need  nor 
desire  to  follow. 


The  fat  autumn  had  now  come  with  its 
abundant  fare,  and  the  caribou  were  not 
again  molested.  Flocks  of  grouse  and  ptar- 
migan came  out  of  the  thick  coverts,  in 
which  they  had  been  hiding  all  summer,  and 
began  to  pluck  the  berries  of  the  open  plains, 
where  they  could  easily  be  waylaid  and 
caught  by  the  growing  wolf  cubs.  Plover 
came  in  hordes,  sweeping  over  the  Straits 
from  the  Labrador;  and  when  the  wolves 
surrounded  a  flock  of  the  queer  birds  and 
hitched  nearer  and  nearer,  sinking  their  gray 
bodies  in  the  yielding  gray  moss  till 
they  looked  like  weather-worn  logs, 

^ie    huntmg    was    f^l    °f 
tense    excitement,    though 


the  juicy  mouthfuls  were  few  and  far  be- 
tween.  Fox  cubs  roamed  abroad  away  from 
their  mothers,  self-willed  and  reveling  in 
the  abundance ;  and  it  was  now  easy  for 
two  of  the  young  wolves  to  drive  a  fox  out 
of  his  daytime  cover  and  catch  him  as  he 
stole  away. 

After  the  plover  came  the  ducks  in 
myriads,  filling  the  ponds  and  flashets  of 
the  vast  barrens  with  tumultuous  quacking ; 
and  the  young  wolves  learned,  like  the  foxes, 
to  decoy  the  silly  birds  by  rousing  their 
curiosity.  They  would  hide  in  the  grass, 
while  one  played  and  rolled  about  on  the 
open  shore,  till  the  ducks  saw  him  and  began 
to  stretch  their  necks  and  gabble  their  amaze- 
ment at  the  strange  thing,  which  they  had 
never  seen  before.  Shy  and  wild  as  he  nat- 
urally is,  a  duck,  like  a  caribou  or  a  turkey, 
must  take  a  peek  at  every  new  thing.  Now 
silent,  now  gabbling  all  together,  the  flock 
would  veer  and  scatter  and  draw  together 
again,  and  finally  swing  in  toward  the  shore, 
every  neck  drawrn  straight  as  a  string  the 
better  to  see  what  was  going  on.  Nearer 


and  nearer  they  would  come,  till  a  swift  rush 
out   of  the  grass  sent  them   off   headlong, 
^'*      splashing  and  quacking  with  crazy  clamor. 
^  t/^^s        But  one  or  two  alwavs  stayed  behind  with 
^ie  w°lves  to  pay  the  price  of  curiosity. 

Then  there  were  the  young  geese,  which 
gathered  in  immense  flocks  in  the  shallow 
bays,  preparing  and  drilling  for  the  autumn 
flight.  Late  in  the  afternoon  the  old  mother 
wolf  with  her  cubs  \vould  steal  down  through 
the  woods,  hiding  and  watching  the  flocks, 
and  following  them  stealthily  as  they  moved 
along  the  shore.  At  night  the  great  flock 
would  approach  a  sand-bar,  well  out  of  the 
way  of  rocks  and  brush  and  everything  that 
might  hide  an  enemy,  and  go  to  sleep  in 
close  little  family  groups  on  the  open  shore. 
As  the  night  darkened  four  shadows  would 
lengthen  out  from  the  nearest  bank  of  shad- 
ows, creeping  onward  to  the  sand-bar  with 
the  slow  patience  of  the  hours.  A  rush,  a 
startled  honk  !  a  terrific  clamor  of  wings  and 
throats  and  smitten  water.  Then  the  four 
shadows  would  rise  up  from  the  sand  and 
k  to  the  woods,  each  with  a  burden 


on  its  shoulders  and  a  sparkle  in  the  close- 
set  eyes  over  the  pointed  jaws,  which  were 
closed  on  the  neck  of  a  goose,  holding  it 
tight  lest  any  outcry  escape  to  tell  the  star- 
tied  flock  what  had  happened. 

Besides  this  abundant  game  there  were 
other  good  things  to  eat,  and  the  cubs  rarely 
dined  of  the  same  dish  twice  in  succession. 
Salmon  and  big  sea-trout  swarmed  now  in 
every  shallow  of  the  clear  brooks,  and,  after 
spawning,  these  fish  were  much  weakened 
and  could  easily  be  caught  by  a  little  cun- 
ning. Every  day  and  night  the  tide  ebbed 
and  flowed,  and  every  tide  left  its  contribu- 
tion in  windrows  of  dead  herring  and  caplin, 
with  scattered  crabs  and  mussels  for  a  relish, 
like  plums  in  a  pudding.  A  wolf  had  only 
to  trot  for  a  mile  or  two  along  the  tide  line 
of  a  lonely  beach,  picking  up  the  good  things 
which  the  sea  had  brought  him,  and  then 
go  back  to  sleep  or  play  satisfied.  And  if 
Wayeeses  wanted  game  to  try  his  mettle  and 
cunning,  there  were  the  big  fat  seals  barking 
on  the  black  rocks,  and  he  had  only  to  cut 
between  them  and  the  sea  and  throw  himself 


upon  the  largest  seal  as  the  herd  floundered 
ponderously  back  to  safety.  A  wolf  rarely 
grips  and  holds  an  enemy ;  he  snaps  and  lets 
go,  and  snaps  again  at  every  swift  chance; 
but  here  he  must  either  hold  fast  or  lose  his 
big  game ;  and  what  between  holding  and 
letting  go,  as  the  seals  whirled  with  bared 
teeth  and  snapped  viciously  in  turn,  as  they 
scrambled  away  to  the  sea,  the  wolves  had  a 
lively  time  of  it.  Often  indeed,  spite  of  three 
or  four  wolves,  a  big  seal  would  tumble  into 
the  tide,  where  the  sharks  followed  his  bloody 
trail  and  soon  finished  him. 

Now  for  the  first  time  the  wolves,  led  by 
the  rich  abundance,  began  to  kill  more  than 
they  needed  for  food  and  to  hide  it  away, 
like  the  squirrels,  in  anticipation  of  the  com- 
ing winter.  Like  the  blue  and  the  Arctic 
foxes,  a  strange  instinct  to  store  things 
seems  to  stir  dimly  at  times  within  them. 
Occasionally,  instead  of  eating  and  sleeping 
after  a  kill,  the  cubs,  led  by  the  mother  wolf, 

hunt  half  of  the 
day  and  night 
and  carry  all 


they  caught  to  the  snow-fields.  There  each 
one  would  search  out  a  cranny  in  the  rocks 
and  hide  his  game,  covering  it  over  deeply 
with  snow  to  kill  the  scent  of  it  from  the 
prowling  foxes.  Then  for  days  at  a  time 
they  would  forget  the  coming  winter,  and 
play  as  heedlessly  as  if  the  woods  would 
always  be  as  full  of  game  as  now;  and  again 
the  mood  would  be  upon  them  strongly,  and 
they  would  kill  all  they  could  find  and  hide 
it  in  another  place.  But  the  instinct  —  if  in- 
deed it  were  instinct,  and  not  the  natural 
result  of  the  mother's  own  experience  —  was 
weak  at  best;  and  the  first  time  the  cubs 
were  hungry  or  lazy  they  would  trail  off  to 
the  hidden  store.  Long  before  the  spring 
with  its  bitter  need  was  upon  them  they  had 
eaten  everything,  and  had  returned  to  the 
empty  storehouse  at  least  a  dozen  times, 
as  a  dog  goes  again  and  again  to  the  place 
where  he  once  hid  a  bone,  and  nosed  it  all 
over  regretfully  to  be  quite  sure  that  they 
had  overlooked  nothing. 

More  interesting  to  the  wolves  in  these 
glad  days  than  the  game  or  the  storehouse, 


92 


Tftetifoyof 
Ifte  V-LWoll 


or  the  piles  of  caplin  which  they  cached  un- 
der the  sand  on  the  shore,  were  the  wander- 
ing herds  of  caribou,  —  splendid  old  stags 
with  massive  antlers,  and  long-legged,  inquis- 
itive fawns  trotting  after  the  sleek  cows, 
whose  heads  carried  small  pointed  horns, 
more  deadly  by  far  than  the  stags'  cumber- 
some antlers.  Wherever  the  wolves  went 
they  crossed  the  trails  of  these  wanderers 
swarming  out  of  the  thickets,  sometimes  by 
twos  and  threes,  and  again  in  straggling,  end- 
less lines  converging  upon  the  vast  open 
barrens  where  the  caribou  gathered  to  select 
their  mates  for  another  year.  Where  they 
all  came  from  was  a  mystery  that  filled  the 
cubs'  heads  with  constant  wonder.  During 
the  summer  you  see  little  of  them,  —  here  a 
cow  with  her  fawn  hiding  deep  in  the  cover, 
there  a  big  stag  standing  out  like  a  watch- 
man on  the  mountain  top;  but  when  the 
early  autumn  comes  they  are  everywhere, 
crossing  rivers  and  lakes  at  regular  points, 
and  following  deep  paths  which  their  ances- 
^fts—  tors  have  followed  for 
-r7  countless  generations. 


The  cows  and  fawns  seemed  gentle  and 

harmless  enough,  though  their  very  numbers  , 

filled  the  young  wolves  with  a  certain  awe.      rwi  it 

After  their  first  lesson  it  would  have  been 
easy  enough  for  the  cubs  to  have  killed  all 
they  wanted  and  to  grow  fat  and  lazy  as  the 
bears,  which  \vere  now  stuffing  themselves 
before  going  off  to  sleep  for  the  winter ;  but 
the  old  mother  wolf  held  them  firmly  in 
check,  for  with  plenty  of  small  game  every- 
where, all  wolves  are  minded  to  go  quietly 
about  their  own  business  and  let  the  caribou 
follow  their  own  ways.  When  October  came 
it  brought  the  big  stags  into  the  open, — 
splendid,  imposing  beasts,  with  swollen  necks 
and  fierce  red  eyes  and  long  white  manes 
tossing  in  the  wind.  Then  the  wolves  had 
to  stand  aside ;  for  the  stags  roamed  over 
all  the  land,  pawing  the  moss  in  fury,  bellow- 
ing their  hoarse  challenge,  and  charging  like 
a  whirlwind  upon  every  living  thing  that 
crossed  their  paths. 

When  the  mother  wolf,  with  her  cubs  at 
heel,  saw  one  of  these  big  furies  at  a  distance 
she  would  circle  prudently  to  avoid  him. 


Again,  as  the  cubs  hunted  rabbits,  they 
would  hear  a  crash  of  brush  and  a  furious 
challenge  as  some  quarrelsome  stag  winded 
them;  and  the  mother  with  her  cubs  gath- 
ered close  about  her  would  watch  alertly  for 
his  headlong  rush.  As  he  charged  out  the 
wolves  would  scatter  and  leap  nimbly  aside, 
then  sit  down  on  their  tails  in  a  solemn  circle 
and  watch  as  if  studying  the  strange  beast. 
Again  and  again  he  would  rush  upon  them, 
only  to  find  that  he  was  fighting  the  wind. 
Mad  as  a  hornet,  he  would  single  out  a  cub 
and  follow  him  headlong  through  brush  and 
brake  till  some  subtle  warning  thrilled  through 
his  madness,  telling  him  to  heed  his  flank; 
then  as  he  whirled  he  would  find  the  savage 
old  mother  close  at  his  heels,  her  white  fangs 
bared  and  a  dangerous  flash  in  her  eyes 
as  she  saw  the  hamstring  so  near,  so  easy 
to  reach.  One  spring  and  a  snap,  and  the 
ramping,  masterful  stag  would  have  been 
helpless  as  a  rabbit,  his  tendons  cut  cleanly 
at  the  hock  ;  another  snap  and  he  must  come 
down,  spite  of  his  great  power,  and  be  food 
for  the  growing  cubs  that  sat  on  their  tails 


watching  him,  unterrified  now  by  his  fierce 
challenge.  But  Megaleep's  time  had  not  yet 
come;  besides,  he  was  too  tough.  So  the 
wolves  studied  him  awhile,  amused  perhaps 
at  the  rough  play;  then,  as  if  at  a  silent 
command,  they  vanished  like  shadows  into 
the  nearest  cover,  leaving  the  big  stag  in  his 
rage  to  think  himself  master  of  all  the  world. 

Sometimes  as  the  old  he-wolf  ranged  alone, 
a  silent,  powerful,  noble-looking  brute,  he 
would  meet  the  caribou,  and  there  would  be 
a  fascinating  bit  of  animal  play.  He  rarely 
turned  aside,  knowing  his  own  power,  and 
the  cows  and  fawns  after  one  look  would 
bound  aside  and  rack  away  at  a  marvelous 
pace  over  the  barrens.  In  a  moment  or  two, 
finding  that  they  were  not  molested,  they 
would  turn  and  watch  the  wolf  curiously  till 
he  disappeared,  trying  perhaps  to  puzzle  it 
out  why  the  ferocious  enemy  of  the  deep 
snows  and  the  bitter  cold  should  now  be 
harmless  as  the  passing  birds. 

Again  a  young  bull  with  his  keen,  polished 
spikehorns,  more  active  and  dangerous  but 
less  confident  than  the  over-antlered  stags, 


would  stand  in  the  old  wolf's  path,  disputing 
with  lowered  front  the  right  of  way.  Here 
the  right  of  way  meant  a  good  deal,  for  in 
many  places  on  the  high  plains  the  scrub 
spruces  grow  so  thickly  that  a  man  can  easily 
walk  over  the  tops  of  them  on  his  snow-shoes, 
and  the  only  possible  passage  in  summer-time 
is  by  means  of  the  numerous  paths  worn 
through  the  scrub  by  the  passing  of  animals 
for  untold  ages.  So  one  or  the  other  of 
the  two  splendid  brutes  that  now  approached 
each  other  in  the  narrow  way  must  turn  aside 
or  be  beaten  down  underfoot. 

Quietly,  steadily,  the  old  wolf  would  come 
on  till  almost  within  springing  distance,  when 
he  would  stop  and  lift  his  great  head,  wrink- 
ling his  chops  to  show  the  long  white  fangs, 
and  rumbling  a  warning  deep  in  his  mas- 
sive chest.  Then  the  caribou  would  lose  his 
nerve;  he  would  stamp  and  fidget  and  blus- 
ter, and  at  last  begin  to  circle  nervously, 
crashing  his  way  into  the  scrub  as  if  for 
a  chance  to  take  his  enemy  in  the  flank. 
Whereupon  the  old  wolf  would  trot  quietly 
along  the  path,  paying  no  more  heed  to  the 


interruption ;  while  the  young  bull  would 
stand  wondering,  his  body  hidden  in  the 
scrub  and  his  head  thrust  into  the  narrow 
path  to  look  after  his  strange  adversary. 

Another  time,  as  the  old  wolf  ranged  along 
the  edges  of  the  barrens  where  the  cari- 
bou herds  were  gathering,  he  would  hear  the 
challenge  of  a  huge  stag  and  the  warning 
crack  of  twigs  and  the  thunder  of  hoofs  as 
the  brute  charged.  Still  the  wolf  trotted 
quietly  along,  watching  from  the  corners  of 
his  eyes  till  the  stag  was  upon  him,  when  he 
sprang  lightly  aside  and  let  the  rush  go 
harmlessly  by.  Sitting  on  his  tail  he  would 
watch  the  caribou  closely  —  and  who  could 
tell  what  was  passing  behind  those  cunning 
eyes  that  glowed  steadily  like  coals,  unruffled 
as  yet  by  the  passing  winds,  but  ready  at  a 
rough  breath  to  break  out  in  flames  of  fire  ? 
Again  and  again  the  stag  would  charge, 
growing  more  furious  at  every  failure;  and 
every  time  the  wolf  leaped  aside  he  left  a 
terrible  gash  in  his  enemy's  neck  or  side, 
punishing  him  cruelly  for  his  bullying  attack, 
yet  strangely  refusing  to  kill,  as  he  might 


Way  of 


have  done,  or  to  close  on  the  hamstring  with 
one  swift  snap  that  would  have  put  the  big 
brute  out  of  the  fight  forever.  At  last,  know- 
*  ing  perhaps  from  past  experience  the  use- 
lessness  of  punishing  or  of  disputing  with 
this  madman  that  felt  no  wounds  in  his  rage, 
the  wolf  would  lope  away  to  cover,  followed 
by  a  victorious  bugle-cry  that  rang  over  the 
wide  barren  and  echoed  back  from  the  moun- 
tain side.  Then  the  wolf  would  circle  back 
stealthily  and  put  his  nose  down  into  the 
stag's  hoof-marks  for  a  long,  deep  sniff,  and 
go  quietly  on  his  way  again.  A  wolf's  nose 
never  forgets.  When  he  finds  that  trail  wan- 
dering with  a  score  of  others  over  the  snow, 
in  the  bitter  days  to  come  when  the  pack 
are  starving,  Wayeeses  will  know  whom  he 
is  following. 

Besides  the  caribou  there  were  other  things 
to  rouse  the  cubs'  curiosity  and  give  them 
something  pleasant  to  do  besides  eating  and 
sleeping.  When  the  hunter's  moon  rose  full 
and  clear  over  the  woods,  filling  all  animals 
with  strange  unrest,  the  pack  would  circle  the 
great  harbor,  trotting  silently  along,  nose  to 


tail  in  single  file,  keeping  on  the  high  ridge 
of  mountains  and  looking  like  a  distant  train 
of  husky  dogs  against  the  moonlight.  When 
over  the  fishing  village  they  would  sit  down, 
each  one  on  the  loftiest  rock  he  could  find, 
raise  their  muzzles  to  the  stars,  and  join  in 
the  long  howl,  Ooooooo-wow-ow-ow  !  a  terrible, 
wailing  cry  that  seemed  to  drive  every  dog 
within  hearing  stark  crazy.  Out  of  the  vil- 
lage lanes  far  below  they  rushed  headlong, 
and  sitting  on  the  beach  in  a  wide  circle, 
heads  all  in  and  tails  out,  they  raised  their 
noses  to  the  distant,  wolf-topped  pinnacles 
and  joined  in  the  wailing  answer.  Then  the 
wolves  would  sit  very  still,  listening  with 
cocked  ears  to  the  cry  of  their  captive 
kinsmen,  till  the  dismal  howling  died  away 
into  silence,  when  they  would  start  the 
clamor  into  life  again  by  giving  the  wolf's 
challenge. 

Why  they  did  it,  what  they  felt  there  in 
the  strange  unreality  of  the  moonlight,  and 
what  hushed  their  profound  enmity,  none  can 
tell.  Ordinarily  the  wolf  hates  both  fox  and 
dog,  and  kills  them  whenever  they  cross  his 


100 


ffie 


path;  but  to-night  the  foxes  were  yapping 
an  answer  all  around  them,  and  sometimes  a 
few  adventurous  dogs  would  scale  the  moun- 
tains silently  to  sit  on  the  rocks  and  join  in 
the  wild  wolf  chorus,  and  not  a  wolf  stirred 
to  molest  them.  All  were  more  or  less  luna- 
tic, and  knew  not  what  they  were  doing. 

For  hours  the  uncanny  comedy  would  drag 
itself  on  into  the  tense  midnight  silence,  the 
wailing  cry  growing  more  demented  and 
heartrending  as  the  spell  of  ancient  days  fell 
again  upon  the  degenerate  huskies.  Up  on 
the  lonely  mountain  tops  the  moon  looked 
down,  still  and  cold,  and  saw  upon  every 
pinnacle  a  dog  or  a  \volf,  each  with  his 
head  turned  up  at  the  sky,  howling  his 
heart  out.  Down  in  the  hamlet,  scattered  for 
miles  along  Deep  Arm  and  the  harbor 
shore,  sleepers  stirred  uneasily  at  the 
clamor,  the  women  clutching  their 
babies  close,  the  men  cursing  the 
crazy  brutes  and  vowing  all  sorts  of 
vengeance  on  the  morrow.  Then 
the  wolves  would  slip 
away  like  shadows  into 


the  vast  upland  barrens,  and  the  dogs,  rest- 
less as  witches  with  some  unknown  excite- 
ment, would  run  back  to  whine  and  scratch 
at  the  doors  of  their  masters'  cabins. 

Soon  the  big  snowflakes  were  whirling  in 
the  air,  busily  weaving  a  soft  white  wind- 
ing-sheet for  the  autumn  which  was  passing 
away.  And  truly  it  had  been  a  good  time 
for  the  wolf  cubs,  as  for  most  wild  animals; 
and  they  had  grown  large  and  strong  with 
their  fat  feeding,  and  wise  with  their  many 
experiences.  The  ducks  and  geese  vanished, 
driving  southward  ahead  of  the  fierce  autumn 
gales,  and  only  the  late  broods  of  hardy 
eiders  were  left  for  a  little  season.  Herring 
and  caplin  had  long  since  drifted  away  into 
unknown  depths,  where  the  tides  flowed  end- 
lessly over  them  and  brought  never  a  one 
ashore.  Hares  and  ptarmigans  turned  white 
to  hide  on  the  snow,  so  that  wolf  and  fox 
would  pass  close  by  without  seeing  them. 
Wood-mice  pushed  their  winding  tunnels  and 
made  their  vaulted  play  rooms  deep  under  the 
drifts,  where  none  might  molest  nor  make 
them  afraid;  and  all  game  grew  wary  and 


101 


Way  of 
Wolf 


102 


toayof 


wild,  learning  from  experience,  as  it  always 
does,  that  only  the  keen  can  survive  the  fall 
hunting.  So  the  long  winter,  with  its  snow 
and  ice  and  its  bitter  cold  and  its  grim  threat 
of  famine,  settled  heavily  over  Harbor  Weal 
and  the  Long  Range  where  Wayeeses  must 
find  his  living. 


103 


THREATENING  as  the  northern 
winter  was,  with  its  stern  order  to  the 
birds  to  depart,  and  to  the  beasts  to  put  on 
their  thick  furs,  and  to  the  little  folk  of  the 
snow  to  hide  themselves  in  white  coats,  and 
to  all  living  things  to  watch  well  the  ways 
that  they  took,  it  could  bring  no  terror  to  Kn 
Wayeeses  and  her  powerful  young  cubs. 
The  gladness  of  life  was  upon  them,  with 
none  of  its  pains  or  anxieties  or  fears,  as 
we  know  them;  and  they  rolled  and  tum- 
bled about  in  the  first  deep  snow  with  the  / 
abandon  of  young  foxes,  filled  with  wonder* 


6  at  the  strange  blanket  that  covered  the  rough 
places  of  earth  so  softly  and  made  their  light 
footsteps  more  noiseless  than  before.  For  to 
//ll//ff//g  ke  no}seiess  and  inconspicuous,  and  so  in 
harmony  with  his  surroundings,  is  the  first 
desire  of  every  creature  of  the  vast  solitudes. 
Meeting  the  wolves  now,  as  they  roamed 
wild  and  free  over  the  great  range,  one 
would  hardly  have  recognized  the  little 
brown  creatures  that  he  saw  playing  about 
the  den  where  the  trail  began.  The  cubs 
were  already  noble-looking  brutes,  larger 
than  the  largest  husky  dog ;  and  the  parents 
were  taller,  with  longer  legs  and  more  mass- 
ive heads  and  powerful  jaws,  than  any  great 
timber-wolf.  A  tremendous  vitality  thrilled 
in  them  from  nose  to  paw  tips.  Their  great 
bodies,  as  they  lay  quiet  in  the  snow  with 
heads  raised  and  hind  legs  bent  under  them, 
were  like  powerful  engines,  tranquil  under 
enormous  pressure ;  and  when  they  rose  the 
movement  was  like  the  quick  snap  of  a  steel 
spring.  Indeed,  half  the  ordinary  movements 
of  Wayeeses  are  so  quick  that  the  eye  can- 
not follow  them.  One  instant  a  wolf  would 


be  lying  flat  on  his  side,  his  long  legs  out- 
stretched on  the  moss,  his  eyes  closed  in  the 
sleepy  sunshine,  his  body  limp  as  a  hound's 
after  a  fox  chase ;  the  next  instant,  like  the 
click  and  blink  of  a  camera  shutter,  he 
would  be  standing  alert  on  all  four  feet, 
questioning  the  passing  breeze  or  looking 
intently  into  your  eyes;  and  you  could  not 
imagine,  much  less  follow,  the  recoil  of  twenty 
big  electric  muscles  that  at  some  subtle 
warning  had  snapped  him  automatically  from 
one  position  to  the  other.  They  were  all 
snow-white,  with  long  thick  hair  and  a  heavy 
mane  that  added  enormously  to  their  im- 
posing appearance;  and  they  carried  their 
bushy  tails  almost  straight  out  as  they  trotted 
along,  with  a  slight  crook  near  the  body, — 
the  true  wolf  sign  that  still  reappears  in 
many  collies  to  tell  a  degenerate  race  of  a 
noble  ancestry. 

After  the  first  deep  snows  the  family  sep- 
arated, led  by  their  growing  hunger  and  by 
the  difficulty  of  finding  enough  game  in  one 
cover  to  supply  all  their  needs.  The  mother 
and  the  smallest  cub  remained  together; 


,,     the  two  larger  cubs  ranged  on  the  other  side 
°^  ^e  mountain>  beating  the  bush  and  hunt- 

ing  into  each  othcr,s  mouth>  as  they  had 

been  trained  to  do;  while  the  big  he-wolf 
^VA,  »-X  <^7  hunted  successfully  by  himself,  as  he  had 
^  done  for  years.  Scattered  as  they  were,  they 
still  kept  track  of  each  other  faithfully,  and 
in  a  casual  way  looked  after  one  another's 
needs.  Wherever  he  was,  a  wolf  seemed  to 
know  by  instinct  where  his  fellows  were 
hunting  many  miles  away.  When  in  doubt 
he  had  only  to  mount  the  highest  hill  and 
give  the  rallying  cry,  which  carried  an  enor- 
mous distance  in  the  still  cold  air,  to  bring 
the  pack  swiftly  and  silently  about  him. 

At  times,  when  the  cubs  were  hungry  after 
a  two-days  fast,  they  would  hear,  faint  and 
far  away,  the  food  cry,  yap-yap-yooo  /  yap-yap- 
yoooooo !  quivering  under  the  stars  in  the 
•'  '.h;!  '••'Y .;\*?V?  tense  early-morning  air,  and  would  dart  away 
to  find  game  freshly  killed  by  one  of  the 
old  wolves  awaiting  them.  Again,  at  night- 
fall, a  cub's  hunting  cry,  ooooo,  ow-ow  !  ooooo, 
ow-ow!  a  deep,  almost  musical  hoot  with  two 
short  barks  at  the  end,  would  come  singing 


down  from  the  uplands;  and  the  wolves, 
leaving  instantly  the  game  they  were  follow- 
ing,  would  hasten  up  to  find  the  two  cubs 
herding  a  caribou  in  a  cleft  of  the  rocks, — 
a  young  caribou  that  had  lost  his  mother  at 
the  hands  of  the  hunters,  and  that  did  not 
know  how  to  take  care  of  himself.  And  one 
of  the  cubs  would  hold  him  there,  sitting  on 
his  tail  in  front  of  the  caribou  to  prevent 
his  escape,  while  the  other  cub  called  the 
wolves  away  from  their  own  hunting  to  come 
and  join  the  feast. 

Whether  this  were  a  conscious  attempt 
to  spare  the  game,  or  to  alarm  it  as  little  as 
need  be,  it  is  impossible  to  say.  Certainly 
the  wolves  know,  better  apparently  than  men, 
that  persistent  hunting  destroys  its  own  ob- 
ject, and  that  caribou  especially,  when  much 
alarmed  by  dogs  or  wolves  or  men,  will  take 
the  alarm  quickly,  and  the  scattered  herds, 
moved  by  a  common  impulse  of  danger, 
will  trail  far  away  to  other  ranges.  That 
is  why  the  wolf,  unlike  the  less  intelligent 
dog,  hunts  always  in  a  silent,  stealthy,  un- 
obtrusive way;  and  why  he  stops  hunting 


and  goes  away  the  instant  his  own  hunger  is 
sa^s^ec^  or  another  wolf  kills  enough  for  all. 

And  that  is  also  the  probable  reason  why  he 

lets  the  deer  alone  as  long  as  he  can  find  any 
other  game. 

This  same  intelligent  provision  was  shown 
in  another  curious  way.  When  a  wolf  in 
his  wide  ranging  found  a  good  hunting- 
ground  where  small  game  was  plentiful,  he 
would  snap  up  a  rabbit  silently  in  the  twi- 
light and  then  go  far  away,  perhaps  to  join 
the  other  cubs  in  a  gambol,  or  to  follow  them 
to  the  cliffs  over  a  fishing  village  and  set  all 
the.  dogs  to  howling.  By  day  he  would  lie 
close  in  some  thick  cover,  miles  away  from 
his  hunting-ground.  At  twilight  he  would 
steal  back  and  hunt  quietly,  just  long  enough 
to  get  his  game,  and  then  trot  away  again, 
leaving  the  cover  as  unharried  as  if  there 
were  not  a  wolf  in  the  whole  neighborhood. 

Such  a  good  hunting-ground  cannot  long 
remain  hidden  from  other  prowlers  in  the 
wilderness ;  and  Wayeeses,  who  was  keeping 
his  discovery  to  himself,  would  soon  cross 
the  trail  of  a  certain  old  fox  returning  day 


after  day  to  the  same  good  covers.  No  two 
foxes,  nor  mice,  nor  men,  nor  any  other  two 
animals  for  that  matter,  ever  leave  the  same 
scent,  — any  old  hound,  which  will  hold 
steadily  to  one  fox  though  a  dozen  others 
cross  or  cover  his  trail,  will  show  you  that 
plainly  in  a  day's  hunting,  —  and  the  wolf 
would  soon  know  surely  that  the  same  fox 
was  poaching  every  night  on  his  own  pre- 
serves while  he  was  away.  To  a  casual,  wan- 
dering hunter  he  paid  no  attention ;  but  this 
cunning  poacher  must  be  laid  by  the  heels, 
else  there  would  not  be  a  single  rabbit  left  in 
the  cover.  So  Wayeeses,  instead  of  hunting 
himself  at  twilight  when  the  rabbits  are 
stirring,  would  wait  till  midday,  when  the 
sun  is  warm  and  foxes  are  sleepy,  and 
then  come  back  to  find  the  poacher's 
trail  and  follow  it  to  where  Eleemos 
was  resting  for  the  day  in  a  sunny  opening 
in  the  scrub.  There  Wayeeses  would  steal 
upon  him  from  behind  and  put  an  end  to  his 
poaching ;  or  else,  if  the  fox  used  the  same 
nest  daily,  as  is  often  the  case  when  he  is 
not  disturbed,  the  wolf  would  circle  the  scrub 


I II 


warily  to  find  the  path  by  which  Eleemos 
USUally  Came  °Ut  °n  his  night'S  huntinS' 

when  he  found  that  out  Wayeeses  would 
dart  away  in  the  lon&  rolling  gallop  that 

carries  a  wolf  swiftly  over  the  roughest  coun- 
try without  fatigue.  In  an  hour  or  two  he 
would  be  back  again  with  another  wolf. 
Then  Eleemos,  dozing  away  in  the  winter 
sunshine,  would  hear  an  unusual  racket  in 
the  scrub  behind  him,  —  some  heavy  animal 
brushing  about  heedlessly  and  snifEng  loudly 
at  a  cold  trail.  No  wolf  certainly,  for  a  wolf 
makes  no  noise.  So  Eleemos  would  get 
down  from  his  warm  rock  and  slip  away, 
stopping  to  look  back  and  listen  jauntily  to 
the  clumsy  brute  behind  him,  till  he  ran 
plump  into  the  jaws  of  the  other  wolf  that 
was  watching  alert  and  silent  beside  the 
runway. 

When  the  snows  were  deep  and  soft  the 
wolves  took  to  hunting  the  lynxes,  —  big, 
savage,  long-clawed  fighters  that  swarm  in 
the  interior  of  Newfoundland  and  play  havoc 
with  the  small  game.  For  a  single  lynx 
the  wolves  hunted  in  pairs,  trailing  the  big 


prowler  stealthily  and  rushing  upon  him 
from  behind  with  a  fierce  uproar  to  startle 
the  wits  out  of  his  stupid  head  and  send  him 
off  headlong,  as  cats  go,  before  he  knew  what 
was  after  him.  Away  he  would  go  in  mighty 
jumps,  sinking  shoulder  deep,  often  indeed 
up  to  his  tufted  ears,  at  every  plunge.  After 
him  raced  the  wolves,  running  lightly  and 
taking  advantage  of  the  holes  he  had  made 
in  the  soft  snow,  till  a  swift  snap  in  his  flank 
brought  Upweekis  up  with  a  ferocious  snarl 
to  tear  in  pieces  his  pursuers. 

Then  began  as  savage  a  bit  of  fighting  as 
the  woods  ever  witness,  teeth  against  talons, 
wolf  cunning  against  cat  ferocity.  Crouched 
in  the  snow,  spitting  and  snarling,  his  teeth 
bared  and  round  eyes  blazing  and  long  claws 
aching  to  close  in  a  death  grip,  Upweekis 
waited  impatient  as  a  fury  for  the  rush.  He 
is  an  ugly  fighter;  but  he  must  always  get 
close,  gripping  his  enemy  with  teeth  and 
fore  claws  while  the  hind  claws  get  in  their 
deadly  work,  kicking  downward  in  powerful 
spasmodic  blows  and  ripping 
everything  before  them.  A 


1  14 


. 

"mm/re 

v*** 


dosf  would  rush  in  now  and  be  torn  to 
pieces;  but  not  so  the  wolves.  Dancing 

lightly  about  the  big  lynx  they  would  watch 

their  c}iance  to  leap  and  snap,  sometimes 
avoiding  the  blow  of  the  swift  paw  with 
its  terrible  claws,  and  sometimes  catching 
it  on  their  heavy  manes;  but  always  a  long 
red  mark  showed  on  the  lynx's  silver  fur  as 
the  wolves'  teeth  clicked  with  the  voice  of 
a  steel  trap  and  they  leaped  aside  without 
serious  injury.  As  the  big  cat  grew  blind 
in  his  fury  they  would  seize  their  chance  like 
a  flash  and  leap  together;  one  pair  of  long 
jaws  would  close  hard  on  the  spine  behind 
the  tufted  ears;  another  pair  would  grip  a 
hind  leg,  while  the  wolves  sprang  apart  and 
braced  to  hold.  Then  the  fight  was  all  over  ; 
and  the  moose  birds,  in  pairs,  came  flitting 
in  silently  to  see  if  there  were  not  a  few 
unconsidered  trifles  of  the  feast  for  them  to 
dispose  of. 

Occasionally,  at  nightfall,  the  wolves'  hunt- 
ing cry  would  ring  out  of  the  woods  as  one 
of  the  cubs  discovered  three  or  four  of  the 
lynxes  growling  horribly  over  some  game  they 


had  pulled  down  together.  For  Upweekis 
too,  though  generally  a  solitary  fellow,  often 
roams  with  a  savage  band  of  freebooters  to 
hunt  the  larger  animals  in  the  bitter  winter 
weather.  No  young  wolf  would  ever  run 
into  one  of  these  bands  alone ;  but  when  the 
pack  rolled  in  upon  them  like  a  tempest  the 
lynxes  would  leap  squalling  away  in  a  blind 
rush;  and  the  two  big  wolves,  cutting  in 
from  the  ends  of  the  charging  line,  would 
turn  a  lynx  kit  deftly  aside  for  the  cubs  to 
hold.  Then  another  for  themselves,  and  the 
hunt  was  over,  —  all  but  the  feast  at  the  end 
of  it. 

When  a  big  and  cunning  lynx  took  to  a 
tree  at  the  first  alarm  the  wolves  would  go 
aside  to  leeward,  where  Upweekis  could  not 
see  them,  but  where  their  noses  told  them 
perfectly  all  that  he  was  doing.  Then  began 
the  long  game  of  patience,  the  wolves  wait- 
ing for  the  game  to  come  down,  and  the  lynx 
waiting  for  the  wolves  to  go  away.  Upweekis 
was  at  a  disadvantage,  for  he  could  not  see 
when  he  had  won;  and  he  generally  came 
down  in  an  hour  or  two,  only  to  find  the 


wolves  hot  on  his  trail  before  he  had  taken 
a  dozen  jumps.  Whereupon  he  took  to  an- 

other  tree  and  the  game  began  again* 

when  the  night  was  exceeding  cold_ 

and  one  who  has  not  felt  it  can  hardly 
imagine  the  bitter,  killing  intensity  of  a  north- 
ern midnight  in  February  —  the  wolves,  in- 
stead of  going  away,  would  wait  under  the 
tree  in  which  the  lynx  had  taken  refuge,  and 
the  silent,  appalling  death-watch  began.  A 
lynx,  though  heavily  furred,  cannot  long 
remain  exposed  in  the  intense  cold  without 
moving.  Moreover  he  must  grip  the  branch 
on  which  he  sits  more  or  less  firmly  with  his 
claws,  to  keep  from  falling;  and  the  tense 
muscles,  which  flex  the  long  claws  to  drive 
them  into  the  wood,  soon  grow  weary  and 
numb  in  the  bitter  frost.  The  wolves  mean- 
while trot  about  to  keep  warm;  while  the 
stupid  cat  sits  in  one  spot  slowly  perishing, 
and  never  thinks  of  running  up  and  down 
the  tree  to  keep  himself  alive.  The  feet 
grow  benumbed  at  last,  powerless  to  hold 
on  any  longer,  and  the  lynx  tumbles  off 
into  the  wolves'  jaws ;  or  else,  knowing  the 


'The  silent,  appalling  death- 
watch  began  " 


•m 


danger,  he  leaps  for  the   nearest   wolf  and 
dies  fighting. 

Spite  of  the  killing  cold,  the  problem  of 
keeping  warm  was  to  the  wolves  always  a 
simple  one.  Moving  along  through  the  win- 
ter night,  always  on  a  swift,  silent  trot,  they 
picked  up  what  game  came  in  their  way,  and 
scarcely  felt  the  eager  cold  that  nipped  at 
their  ears,  or  the  wind,  keen  as  an  icicle,  that 
strove  to  penetrate  the  shaggy  white  coats 
that  covered  them.  When  their  hunger  was 
satisfied,  or  when  the  late  day  came  and  found 
them  still  hunting  hopefully,  they  would 
push  their  way  into  the  thick  scrub  from  one 
of  the  numerous  paths  and  lie  down  on  a 
nest  of  leaves,  which  even  in  midwinter  were 
dry  as  if  no  snow  or  rain  had  ever  fallen. 
There,  where  no  wind  or  gale  however  strong 
could  penetrate,  and  with  the  snow  filling 
the  low  branches  overhead  and  piled  over 
them  in  a  soft,  warm  blanket  three  feet  thick, 
they  would  push  their  sensitive  noses  into 
their  own  thick  fur  to  keep  them  warm,  and 
sleep  comfortably  till  the  early  twilight  came 
and  called  them  out  again  to  the  hunting. 


I2O 


At  times,  when  not  near  the  scrub,  they 
would  burrow  deep  into  a  great  drift  of  snow 
and  sleep  in  the  warmest  kind  of  a  nest, — 
a  trick  that  the  husky  dogs,  which  are  but 
wolves  of  yesterday,  still  remember.  Like 
all  wild  animals,  they  felt  the  coming  of  a 
storm  long  before  the  first  white  flakes  be- 
gan to  whirl  in  the  air;  and  when  a  great 
storm  threatened  they  would  lie  down  to 
sleep  in  a  cave,  or  a  cranny  of  the  rocks,  and 
let  the  drifts  pile  soft  and  warm  over  them. 
However  long  the  storm,  they  never  stirred 
abroad;  partly  for  their  own  comfort,  partly 
because  all  game  lies  hid  at  such  times  and 
it  is  practically  impossible,  even  for  a  wolf, 
to  find  it.  When  a  wolf  has  fed  full  he  can 
go  a  week  without  eating  and  suffer  no  great 
discomfort.  So  Wayeeses  would  lie  close 
and  warm  while  the  snow  piled  deep  around 
him  and  the  gale  raged  over  the  sea  and 
mountains,  but  passed  unfelt  and  unheeded 
over  his  head.  Then,  when  the  storm  was 
over,  he  pawed  his  way  up  through  the  drift 
and  came  out  in  a  new,  bright  world, 
where  the  game,  with 


appetites   sharpened   by  the  long  fast,  was 
already  stirring  briskly  in  every  covert. 

When  March  came,  the  bitterest  month  of 
all  for  the  Wood  Folk,  even  Wayeeses  was 
often  hard  pressed  to  find  a  living.  Small 
game  grew  scarce  and  very  wild ;  the  caribou 
had  wandered  far  away  to  other  ranges ;  and 
the  cubs  would  dig  for  hours  after  a  mouse, 
or  stalk  a  snowbird,  or  wait  with  endless  pa- 
tience for  a  red  squirrel  to  stop  his  chatter 
and  come  down  to  search  under  the  snow 
for  a  fir  cone  that  he  had  hidden  there  in 
the  good  autumn  days.  And  once,  when  the 
hunger  within  was  more  nipping  than  the 
eager  cold  without,  one  of  the  cubs  found  a 
bear  sleeping  in  his  winter  den  among  the 
rocks.  With  a  sharp  hunting  cry,  that  sang 
like  a  bullet  over  the  frozen  wastes,  he  called 
the  whole  pack  about  him.  While  the  rest  lay 
in  hiding  the  old  he-wolf  approached  warily 
and  scratched  Mooween  out  of  his  den,  and 
then  ran  away  to  entice  the  big  brute  into  the 
open  ground,  where  the  pack  rolled  in  upon 
him  and  killed  him  in  a  terrible  fight  before  he 
had  fairly  shaken  the  sleep  out  of  his  eyes. 


Old  Tomah,  the  trapper,  was  abroad  now, 
taking  advantage  of  the  spring  hunger.  The 
7/ifeWllfe  Wv//5  woives  often  crossed  his  snow-shoe  trail,  or 
followed  it  swiftly  to  see  whither  it  led.  For 
a  wolf,  like  a  farm  dog,  is  never  satisfied  till 
he  knows  the  ways  of  every  living  thing  that 
crosses  his  range.  Following  the  broad  trail 
Wayeeses  would  find  here  a  trapped  animal, 
struggling  desperately  with  the  clog  and  the 
cruel  gripping  teeth,  there  the  flayed  car- 
cass of  a  lynx  or  an  otter,  and  yonder  the  leg 
of  a  dog  or  a  piece  of  caribou  meat  hung 
by  a  cord  over  a  runway,  with  the  snow  dis- 
turbed beneath  it  where  the  deadly  trap  was 
hidden.  One  glance,  or  a  sniff  at  a  dis- 
tance, was  enough  for  the  wolf.  Lynxes  do 
not  go  about  the  range  without  their  skins, 
and  meat  does  not  naturally  hang  on  trees; 
so  Wayeeses,  knowing  all  the  ways  of  the 
woods,  would  ignore  these  baits  absolutely. 
Nevertheless  he  followed  the  snow-shoe  trails 
until  he  knew  where  every  unnatural  thing 
lay  hidden;  and  no  matter  how  hungry  he 
was,  or  how  cunningly  the  old  Indian  hid 
his  devices,  or  however  deep  the  new  snow 


covered  all  traces  of  man's  work,  Wayeeses 
passed  by  on  the  other  side  and  kept  his 
dainty  feet  out  of  every  snare  and  pitfall. 

Once,  when  the  two  cubs  that  hunted  to- 
gether were  hard  pinched  with  hunger,  they 
found  Old  Tomah  in  the  twilight  and  fol- 
lowed him  stealthily.  The  old  Indian  was 
swinging  along,  silent  as  a  shadow  of  the 
woods,  his  gun  on  his  shoulder  and  some 
skins  on  his  back,  heading  swiftly  for  the 
little  hut  under  the  cliff,  where  he  burrowed 
for  the  night  as  snug  as  a  bear  in  his  den. 
An  old  wolf  would  have  known  instantly  the 
danger,  for  man  alone  bites  at  a  distance; 
but  the  lop-eared  cub,  which  was  larger  than 
his  brother  and  therefore  the  leader,  raised 
his  head  for  the  hunting  cry.  The  first  yap 
had  hardly  left  his  throat  when  the  thunder 
roared,  and  something  seared  the  wolf's  side 
like  a  hot  iron.  The  cubs  vanished  like  the 
smoke  from  the  old  gun.  Then  the  Indian 
came  swiftly  back  on  the  trail,  peering  about 
with  hawk  eyes  to  see  the  effect  'of  his  shot. 

"  By  cosh !  miss  um  dat  time.  Mus'  be 
powder  no  good."  Then,  as  he  read  the 


123 


'^fiT* 


S 


124 


.  ,ir» 


plain  record  in  the  snow,  "One,  —  by  cosh! 
two  hwulf,  HI  fool  hwulf,  follow  my  footin'. 
Mus'  be  more,  come  soon  pretty  quick  now ; 
else  he  don'  howl  dat  way.  Guess  mebbe  ol' 
Injun  better  stay  in  house  nights."  And  he 
trailed  warily  back  to  hide  himself  behind  a 
rock  and  watch  till  dark  in  front  of  his  little 
commoosie. 

Old  Tomah's  sleep  was  sound  as  usual 
that  night;  so  he  could  not  see  the  five 
shadows  that  stole  out  of  the  woods,  nor 
hear  the  light  footfalls  that  circled  his  camp, 
nor  feel  the  breath,  soft  as  an  eddy  of  wind 
in  a  spruce  top,  that  whiffed  at  the  crack 
under  his  door  and  drifted  away  again. 
Next  morning  he  saw  the  tracks  and  under- 
stood them ;  and  as  he  trailed  away  through 
the  still  woods  he  was  wondering,  in  his 
silent  Indian  way,  why  an  old  wolf  should 
always  bring  Malsunsis,  the  cub,  for  a  good 
look  and  a  sniff  at  anything  that  he  is  to 
avoid  ever  after. 

When  all  else  fails  follow  the  caribou, — 
that  is  the  law  which  governs  the  wolf  in 
hungry  days;  but  before  they  crossed 


the  mountains  and  followed  the  long  valleys 
to  the  far  southern  ranges  the  wolves  went 
back  to  the  hills,  where  the  trail  began,  for  a 
more  exciting  and  dangerous  kind  of  hunt- 
ing. The  pack  had  held  closer  together  of 
late;  for  the  old  wolves  must  often  share 
even  a  scant  fox  or  rabbit  with  the  hungry 
and  inexperienced  youngsters.  Now,  when 
famine  drove  them  to  the  very  doors  of  the 
one  enemy  to  be  feared,  only  the  wisest  and 
wariest  old  wolf  was  fit  to  lead  the  foray. 

The  little  fishing  village  was  buried  un- 
der drifts  and  almost  deserted.  A  few  men 
lingered  to  watch  the  boats  and  houses ;  but 
the  families  had  all  gone  inland  to  the 
winter  tilts  for  wood  and  shelter.  By  night 
the  wolves  would  come  stealthily  to  prowl 
among  the  deserted  lanes;  and  the  fisher- 
men, asleep  in  their  clothes  under  caribou 
skins,  or  sitting  close  by  the  stove  be- 
hind barred  doors,  would  know  nothing  of 
the  huge,  gaunt  forms  that  flitted  noiselessly 
past  the  frosted  windows.  If  a  pig  were  left 
in  his  pen  a  sudden  terrible  squealing  would 
break  out  on  the  still  night;  and  when  the 


fisherman  rushed  out  the  pen  would  be 
empty,  with  nothing  whatever  to  account 
WO//5  £or  piggie's  disappearance.  For  to  their  un- 
trained eyes  even  the  tracks  of  the  wolves 
were  covered  up  by  those  of  the  numerous 
big  huskies.  If  a  cat  prowled  abroad,  or  an 
uneasy  dog  scratched  to  be  let  out,  there 
would  be  a  squall,  a  yelp, — and  the  cat  would 
not  come  back,  and  the  dog  would  never 
scratch  at  the  door  to  be  let  in  again. 

Only  when  nothing  stirred  in  the  village, 
when  the  dogs  and  cats  had  been  spirited 
away,  and  when  not  even  a  rat  stole  from 
under  the  houses  to  gnaw  at  a  fishbone, 
would  the  fishermen  know  of  their  big  silent 
visitors.  Then  the  wolves  would  gather  on 
a  snow-drift  just  outside  the  village  and  raise 
a  howl,  a  frightful  wail  of  famine  and  dis- 
appointment, that  made  the  air  shudder. 
From  within  the  houses  the  dogs  answered 
with  mad  clamor.  A  door  would  open  to 
show  first  a  long  seal  gun,  then  a  fisherman, 
then  a  fool  dog  that  darted  between  the 
fisherman's  legs  and  capered  away,  ki-yi-ing 
a  challenge  to  the  universe.  A  silence,  tense 


as  a  bowstring ;  a  sudden  yelp  — Hui-hui,  as 
the  fisherman  whistled  to  the  dog  that  was 
being  whisked  away  over  the  snow  with  a 
grip  on  his  throat  that  prevented  any  answer ; 
then  the  fisherman  would  wait  and  call  in  vain, 
and  shiver,  and  go  back  to  the  fire  again. 

Almost  every  pleasant  day  a  train  of  dogs 
would  leave  the  village  and  go  far  back  on 
the  hills  to  haul  fire-wood,  or  poles  for  the 
new  fish-flakes.  The  wolves,  watching  from 
their  old  den,  would  follow  at  a  distance  to 
pick  up  a  careless  dog  that  ventured  away 
from  the  fire  to  hunt  rabbits  when  his  harness 
was  taken  off.  Occasionally  a  solitary  wood- 
chopper  would  start  with  sudden  alarm  as 
a  big  white  form  glided  into  sight,  and  the 
alarm  would  be  followed  by  genuine  terror  as 
he  found  himself  surrounded  by  five  huge 
wolves  that  sat  on  their  tails  watching  him 
curiously.  Gripping  his  ax  he  would  hurry 
back  to  call  his  companions  and  harness  the 
dogs  and  hurry  back  to  the  village  before 
the  early  darkness  should  fall  upon  them. 
As  the  komatik  went  careering  over  the  snow, 
the  dogs  yelping  and  straining  at  the  harness, 

J 


128 


the  men  running  alongside  shouting  Hi-hi 
and  cracking  their  whips,  they  could  still 
see,  over  their  shoulders,  the  wolves  follow- 
ing lightly  close  behind;  but  when  they 
rushed  breathless  into  their  houses,  and 
grabbed  their  guns,  and  ran  back  on  the 
trail,  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen.  For  the 
wolves,  quick  as  light  to  feel  the  presence 
of  danger,  were  already  far  away,  trotting 
swiftly  up  the  frozen  arm  of  the  harbor,  fol- 
lowing another  sledge  trail  which  came  down 
that  morning  from  the  wilderness. 

That  same  night  the  wolves  appeared 
silently  in  the  little  lodge,  far  up  the  South- 
east Brook,  where  in  a  sheltered  hollow  of 
the  hills  the  fishermen's  families  were  sleep- 
ing away  the  bitter  winter.  Here  for  one  long 
night  they  watched  and  waited  in  vain ;  for 
every  living  thing  was  safe  in  the  tilts  behind 
barred  doors.  In  the  morning  little  Noel's 
eyes  kindled  as  he  saw  the  wolves'  tracks; 
and  when  they  came  back  again  the  tilts  were 
watching.  As  the  lop-eared  cub  darted  after 
a  cat  that  shot  like  a  ray  of  moonlight  under 
a  cabin,  a  window  opened  noiselessly,  and 


zing!  a  bowstring  twanged  its  sharp  warn- 
ing in  the  tense  silence.  With  a  yelp  the 
wolf  tore  the  arrow  from  his  shoulder.  The 
warm  blood  followed  the  barb,  and  he  lapped 
it  eagerly  in  his  hunger.  Then,  as  the  danger 
swept  over  him,  he  gave  the  trail  cry  and 
darted  away.  Doors  banged  open  here  and 
there;  dogs  barked  to  crack  their  throats; 
seal  guns  roared  out  and  sent  their  heavy 
echoes  crashing  like  thunder  among  the  hills. 
Silence  fell  again  over  the  lodge ;  and  there 
were  left  only  a  few  frightened  dogs  whose 
noses  had  already  told  them  everything,  a 
few  fishermen  who  watched  and  listened, 
and  one  Indian  boy  with  a  long  bow  in  his 
hand  and  an  arrow  ready  on  the  string,  who 
trailed  away  with  a  little  girl  at  his  side  try- 
ing to  puzzle  out  the  track  of  one  wolf  that 
left  a  drop  of  blood  here  and  there  on  the 
snow  in  the  scant  moonlight. 

Far  up  on  the  hillside  in  a  little  opening 
of  the  woods  the  scattered  pack  came  together 
again.  At  the  first  uproar,  so  unbearable  to 
a  silence-loving  animal,  they  had  vanished  in 
five  different  directions;  yet  so  subtle,  so 


perfect  is  the  instinct  which  holds  a  wolf 
family  together  that  the  old  mother  had 
scarcely  entered  the  glade  alone  and  sat 
down  to  wait  and  listen  when  the  other 
wolves  joined  her  silently.  Malsunsis,  the 
big  cub,  scarcely  felt  his  wound  at  first, 
for  the  arrow  had  but  glanced  through  the 
thick  skin  and  flesh,  and  he  had  torn  it 
out  without  difficulty;  but  the  old  he-wolf 
limped  painfully  and  held  up  one  fore  leg, 
pierced  by  a  seal  shot,  as  he  loped  away 
over  the  snow. 

It  was  their  first  rough  experience  with 
men,  and  probably  the  one  feeling  in  every 
shaggy  head  was  of  puzzled  wonder  as  to 
how  and  why  it  had  all  happened.  Hitherto 
they  had  avoided  men  with  a  certain  awe,  or 
watched  them  curiously  at  a  distance,  trying 
to  understand  their  superior  ways ;  and  never 
a  hostile  feeling  for  the  masters  of  the  woods 
had  found  place  in  a  wolf's  breast.  Now 
man  had  spoken  at  last;  his  voice  was  a 
brutal  command  to  be  gone,  and  curiously 
enough  these  powerful  big  brutes,  any  one 
of  which  could  have  pulled  down  a  man 


more  easily  than  a  caribou,  never  thought  of 
questioning  the  order. 

It  was  certainly  time  to  follow  the  caribou 
—  that  was  probably  the  one  definite  pur-  ""f*fn 
pose  that  came  upon  the  wolves,  sitting  in  a 
silent,  questioning  circle  in  the  moonlight, 
with  only  the  deep  snows  and  the  empty 
woods  around  them.  For  a  week  they  had 
not  touched  food;  for  thrice  that  time  they 
had  not  fed  full,  and  a  few  days  more  would 
leave  them  unable  to  cope  with  the  big  car- 
ibou, which  are  always  full  fed  and  strong, 
thanks  to  nature's  abundance  of  deer  moss 
on  the  barrens.  So  they  started  as  by  a  sin- 
gle impulse,  and  the  mother  wolf  led  them 
swiftly  southward,  hour  after  hour  at  a  tire- 
less pace,  till  the  great  he-wolf  weakened 
and  turned  aside  to  nurse  his  wounded  fore 
leg.  The  lop-eared  cub  drew  out  of  the  race 
at  the  same  time.  His  own  wound  now 
required  the  soft  massage  of  his  tongue  to 
allay  the  fever ;  and  besides,  the  fear  that 
was  born  in  him,  one  night  long  ago,  and 
that  had  slept  ever  since,  was  now  awake 
again,  and  for  the  first  time  he  was  afraid 


face  the  famine  and  the   wilderness    alone. 
So  the  pack  swept  on,  as  if  their  feet  would 

TjeWt/fe  wolfs  never  tirCj  and  the  two  wounded  woives 


A  strange,  terrible  feeling  stole  swiftly 
over  the  covert,  which  had  always  hitherto 
been  a  place  of  rest  and  quiet  content.  The 
cub  was  licking  his  wound  softly  when  he 
looked  up  in  sudden  alarm,  and  there  was  the 
great  he-wolf  looking  at  him  hungrily,  with 
a  frightful  flare  in  his  green  eyes.  The  cub 
moved  away  startled  and  tried  to  soothe  his 
wound  again;  but  the  uncanny  feeling  was 
strong  upon  him  still,  and  when  he  turned 
his  head  there  was  the  big  wolf,  which  had 
crept  forward  till  he  could  see  the  cub  behind 
a  twisted  spruce  root,  watching  him  steadily 
with  the  same  horrible  stare  in  his  unblink- 
ing eyes.  The  hackles  rose  up  on  the  cub's 
neck  and  a  growl  rumbled  in  his  deep  chest, 
for  he  knew  now  what  it  all  meant.  The 
smell  of  blood  was  in  the  air,  and  the  old  he- 
wolf,  that  had  so  often  shared  his  kill  to  save 
the  cubs,  was  now  going  crazy  in  his  awful 
hunger.  Another  moment  and  there  would 


have  been  a  terrible  duel  in  the  scrub;  but 
as  the  wolves  sprang  to  their  feet  and  faced 
each  other  some  deep,  unknown  feeling  stirred 
within  them  and  they  turned  aside.  The  old 
wolf  threw  himself  down  heavily,  facing  away 
from  the  temptation,  and  the  cub  slipped 
aside  to  find  another  den,  out  of  sight  and 
smell  of  the  huge  leader,  lest  the  scent  of 
blood  should  overcome  them  again  and  cause 
them  to  fly  at  each  other's  throats  in  uncon- 
trollable fury. 

Next  morning  a  queer  thing  happened, 
but  not  uncommon  under  the  circumstances 
among  wolves  and  huskies.  The  cub  was 
lying  motionless,  his  head  on  his  paws,  his 
eyes  wide  open,  when  something  stirred 
near  him.  A  red  squirrel  came  scampering 
through  the  scrub  branches  just  under  the 
thick  coating  of  snow  that  filled  all  their 
tops.  Slowly,  carefully  the  young  wolf  gath- 
ered his  feet  under  him,  tense  as  a  bowstring.  >- 
As  the  squirrel  whisked  overhead  the  wolf  v, 
leaped  like  a  flash,  caught  him,  and  crushed 
him  with  a  single  grip.  Then  with  the  squir- 
rel in  his  mouth  he  made  his  way  back 


133 

TfieWtfe. 


to  where  the  big  leader  was  lying,  his  head 
on  his  paws,  his  eyes  turned  aside.  Slowly, 
war}lv  the  cub  approached)  witn  a  friendly 
twist  of  his  ears  and  head>  tin  he  kid  the 

squirrel  at  the  big  wolf's  very  nose,  then 
drew  back  a  step  and  lay  with  paws  extended 
and  tail  thumping  the  leaves,  watching  till 
the  tidbit  was  seized  ravenously  and  crushed 
and  bolted  in  a  single  mouthful.  Next  instant 
both  wolves  sprang  to  their  feet  and  made 
their  way  out  of  the  scrub  together. 

They  took  up  the  trail  of  the  pack  where 
they  had  left  it,  and  followed  it  ten  hours, 
the  cub  at  a  swift  trot,  the  old  wolf  loping 
along  on  three  legs.  Then  a  rest,  and  for- 
ward again,  slower  and  slower,  night  after 
day  in  ever-failing  strength,  till  on  the  edge 
of  a  great  barren  they  stopped  as  if  struck, 
trembling  all  over  as  the  reek  of  game  poured 
into  their  starving  nostrils. 

Too  weak  now  to  kill  or  to  follow  the  fleet 
caribou,  they  lay  down  in  the  snow  wait- 
ing, their  ears  cocked,  their  noses  question- 
ing every  breeze  for  its  good  news.  Left  to 
themselves  the  trail  must  end  here,  for  they 


could  go  no  farther;  but  somewhere  ahead  in 
the  vast  silent  barren  the  cubs  were  trailing,  ^ 
and  somewhere  beyond  them  the  old  mother  *"enfi//ei 
wolf  was  laying  her  ambush.  —  Hark  !  from 
a  spur  of  the  valley,  far  below  on  their  left, 
rang  out  the  food  cry,  singing  its  way  in  the 
frosty  air  over  woods  and  plains,  and  hur- 
rying back  over  the  trail  to  tell  those  who 
had  fallen  by  the  way  that  they  were  not 
forgotten.  And  when  they  leaped  up,  as  at 
an  electric  shock,  and  raced  for  the  cry, 
there  were  the  cubs  and  the  mother  wolf, 
their  hunger  already  satisfied,  and  there  in 
the  snow  a  young  bull  caribou  to  save  them. 
So  the  long,  hard  winter  passed  away, 
and  spring  came  again  with  its  abundance. 
Grouse  drummed  a  welcome  in  the  woods; 
the  honk  of  wild  geese  filled  the  air  with  a 
joyous  clangor,  and  in  every  open  pool  the 
ducks  were  quacking.  No  need  now  to  cling 
like  shadows  to  the  herds  of  caribou,  and  no 
further  need  for  the  pack  to  hold  together. 
The  ties  that  held  them  melted  like  snows 
in  the  sunny  hollows.  First  the  old  wolves, 
then  the  cubs,,  one  by  one  drifted  away  J> — x' 


136 


whither  the  game  or  their  new  mates  were 
calling  them.  When  the  summer  came  there 
was  another  den  on  the  high  hill  overlooking 

o  o 

the  harbor,  where  the  little  brown  cubs  could 
look  down  with  wonder  at  the  shining  sea  and 
the  slow  fishing-boats  and  the  children  play- 
ing on  the  shore ;  but  the  wolves  whose 
trail  began  there  were  far  away  over 
the  mountains,  following  their  own 
ways,  waiting  for  the  crisp  hunting  cry 
that  should  bring  them  again  together. 


• 


,-:-^  ~';T*"-" 


"ARE  we  lost,  little  brother?" 
ji\.  said  Mooka,  shivering. 

No  need  of  the  question,  startling  and  ter- 
rible as  it  was  from  the  lips  of  a  child  astray 
in  the  vast  solitudes;  for  a  great  gale  had 
swooped  down  from  the  Arctic,  blotting  out 
in  clouds  of  whirling  snow  the  world  of  plain 
and  mountain  and  forest  that,  a  moment  be- 
fore, had  stretched  wide  and  still  before  the 
little  hunters'  eyes. 

For  an  hour  or  more,  running  like  startled 
deer,  they  had  tried  to  follow  their  own 
snow-shoe  trail  back  over  the  wide  barrens 
into  the  friendly  woods;  but  already  the 
snow  had  filled  it  brim  full,  and  whatever 
139 


•>'  '••-.,'>» 


faint  trace  was  left  of  the  long  raquettes  was 
caught  up  by  the  gale  and  whirled  away  with 
a  howl  of  exultation.  Before  them  as  they 
ran  every  trail  of  wolf  and  caribou  and  snow- 
shoe,  and  every  distant  landmark,  had  van- 
ished ;  the  world  was  but  a  chaos  of  mad  roll- 
ing snow  clouds;  and  behind  them  —  Their 
stout  little  hearts  trembled  as  they  saw  not 
a  vestige  of  the  trail  they  had  just  made. 
With  the  great  world  itself,  their  own  little 
tracks,  as  fast  as  they  made  them,  were  swept 
and  blotted  out  of  existence.  Like  two  spar- 
rows that  had  dropped  blinded  and  bewil- 
dered on  the  vast  plain  out  of  the  snow 
cloud,  they  huddled  together  without  one 
friendly  sign  to  tell  them  whence  they  had 
come  or  whither  they  were  going.  Worst 
of  all  the  instinct  of  direction,  which  often 
guides  an  Indian  through  the  still  fog  or 
the  darkest  night,  seemed  benumbed  by  the 
cold  and  the  tumult ;  and  not  even  Old 
Tomah  himself  could  have  told  north  or 
south *in  the  blinding  storm. 

Still  they  ran  on  bravely,  bending  to  the 
fierce  blasts,  heading  the  wind  as  best  they 


could,  till  Mooka,  tripping  a  second  time  in 
a  little  hollow  where  a  brook  ran  deep  under 


the  snow,  and  knowing  now  that  they  were 

but   wandering  in  an  endless  circle,  seized       j>?|pv 

Noel's  arm  and  repeated  her  question : 

"  Are  we  lost,  little  brother  ?  " 

And  Noel,  lost  and  bewildered,  but  grip- 
ping his  bow  in  his  fur  mitten  and  peering 
here  and  there,  like  an  old  hunter,  through 
the  whirling  flakes  and  rolling  gusts  to 
catch  some  landmark,  some  lofty  crag  or 
low  tree-line  that  held  steady  in  the  mad 
dance  of  the  world,  still  made  confident  In- 
dian answer: 

"  Noel  not  lost ;  Noel  right  here.  Camp 
lost,  little  sister." 

"  Can  we  find  um,  little  brother  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  we  find  um.  Find  um  bimeby, 
pretty  soon  quick  now,  after  storm." 

"  But  storm  last  all  night,  and  it's  soon 
dark.  Can  we  rest  and  not  freeze?  Mooka 
tired  and  —  and  frightened,  little  brother." 

"  Sartin  we  rest ;  build  um  commoosie  and 
sleep  jus'  like  bear  in  his  den.  Oh,  yes,  sartin 
we  rest  good,"  said  Noel  cheerfully. 


"And  the  wolves,  little  brother?"  whis- 
pered Mooka,  looking  back  timidly  into  the 
wild  waste  out  of  which  they  had  come. 

"  Never  mind  h wolves ;  nothing  hunts  in 
storm,  little  sister.  Come  on,  we  must  find 
um  woods  now." 

For  one  brief  moment  the  little  hunter 
stood  with  upturned  face,  while  Mooka 
bowed  her  head  silently,  and  the  great  storm 
rolled  unheeded  over  them.  Still  holding 
his  long  bow  he  stretched  both  hands  to 
the  sky  in  the  mute  appeal  that  Keesuolukh, 
the  Great  Mystery  whom  we  call  God,  would 
understand  better  than  all  words.  Then 
turning  their  backs  to  the  gale  they  drifted 
swiftly  away  before  it,  like  two  wind-blown 
leaves,  running  to  keep  from  freezing,  and 
holding  each  other's  hands  tight  lest  they 
separate  and  be  lost  by  the  way. 

The  second  winter  had  come,  sealing  up 
the  gloomy  land  till  it  rang  like  iron  at  the 
touch,  then  covering  it  deep  with  snow  and 
polishing  its  mute  white  face  with  hoar-frost 
and  hail  driven  onward  by  the  fierce  Arctic 


gales.  An  appalling  silence  rested  on  plains 
and  mountains.  Not  a  chirp,  not  a  rustle 
broke  the  intense,  unnatural  stillness.  One 
might  travel  all  day  long  without  a  sight  or 
sound  of  life;  and  when  the  early  twilight 
came  and  life  stirred  shyly  from  its  coverts 
and  snow  caves,  the  Wood  Folk  stole  out 
into  the  bare  white  world  on  noiseless,  hesi- 
tating feet,  as  if  in  presence  of  the  dead. 

When  the  Moon  of  Famine  came,  the 
silence  was  rudely  broken.  Before  daylight 
one  morning,  when  the  air  was  so  tense  and 
still  that  a  whisper  set  it  tinkling  like  sil- 
ver bells,  the  rallying  cry  of  the  wolves  rolled 
down  from  a  mountain  top;  and  the  three 
cubs,  that  had  waited  long  for  the  signal, 
left  their  separate  trails  far  away  and  hur- 
ried to  join  the  old  leader. 

When  the  sun  rose  that  morning  one  who 
stood  on  the  high  ridge  of  the  Top  Gallants, 
far  to  the  eastward  of  Harbor  Weal,  would 
have  seen  seven  trails  winding  down  among  ' 
the    rocks  and  thickets.    It  needed  only  a  « 
glance  to  show  that  the  seven  trails,  each 
one   as  clear-cut  and   delicate  as  that  of  a 


Tlcil7sIfiatCr05S 


prowling  fox,  were  the  records  of  wolves' 
cautious  feet  ;  and  that  they  were  no  longer 
keating  the  thickets  for  grouse  and  rab- 
bits>  but  movmg  swiftly  all  together  for  the 
edges  of  the  vast  barrens  where  the  caribou 
herds  were  feeding.  Another  glance  —  but 
here  we  must  have  the  cunning  eyes  of  Old 
Tomah  the  hunter  —  would  have  told  that 
two  of  the  trails  were  those  of  enormous 
wolves  which  led  the  pack  ;  two  others  were 
plainly  cubs  that  had  not  yet  lost  the  cub 
trick  of  frolicking  in  the  soft  snow;  while 
three  others  were  just  wolves,  big  and  power- 
ful brutes  that  moved  as  if  on  steel  springs, 
and  that  still  held  to  the  old  pack  because 
the  time  had  not  yet  come  for  them  to  scatter 
finally  to  their  separate  ways  and  head  new 
packs  of  their  own  in  the  great  solitudes. 

Out  from  the  woods  on  the  other  side  of 
the  barren  came  two  snow-shoe  trails,  which 
advanced  with  short  steps  and  rested  lightly 
on  the  snow,  as  if  the  makers  of  the  trails 
were  little  people  whose  weight  on  the  snow- 
shoes  made  *  A  hardly  more  im- 
pression than  (/JL  *\J/  the  broad  pads  of 


Moktaques  the  rabbit.  They  followed  stealth- 
ily the  winding  records  of  a  score  of  caribou 
that  had  wandered  like  an  eddying  wind  all 
over  the  barren,  stopping  here  and  there  to 
paw  great  holes  in  the  snow  for  the  cari- 
bou moss  that  covered  all  the  earth  beneath. 
Out  at  the  end  of  the  trail  two  Indian  chil- 
dren, a  girl  and  a  boy,  stole  along  with 
noiseless  steps,  scanning  the  wide  wastes 
for  a  cloud  of  mist  —  the  frozen  breath  that 
hovers  over  a  herd  of  caribou  —  or  peering 
keenly  into  the  edges  of  the  woods  for  vague 
white  shapes  moving  like  shadows  among 
the  trees.  So  they  moved  on  swiftly,  silently, 
till  the  boy  stopped  with  a  startled  exclama- 
tion, whipped  out  a  long  arrow  with  a  barbed 
steel  point,  and  laid  it  ready  across  his  bow. 
For  at  his  feet  was  another  light  trail,  the 
trail  of  a  wolf  pack,  that  crossed  his  own, 
moving  straight  and  swift  across  the  barren 
toward  the  unseen  caribou. 

Just  in  front,  as  the  boy  stopped,  a  slight 
motion  broke  the  even  white  surface  that 
stretched  away  silent  and  lifeless  on  every 
side,  —  a  motion  so  faint  and  natural  that 


146 


Noel's  keen  eyes,  sweeping  the  plain  and  the 
edges  of  the  distant  woods,  never  noticed  it. 
TKUJSJKffGaSS  A  vagrant  wind>  which  had  been  wandering 

and  moaning  all  morning  as  if  lost,  seemed 
to  stir  the  snow  and  settle  to  rest  again. 
But  now,  where  the  plain  seemed  most  empty 
and  lifeless,  seven  great  white  wolves  crouched 
down  in  the  snow  in  a  little  hollow,  their  paws 
extended,  their  hind  legs  bent  like  powerful 
springs  beneath  them,  their  heads  raised  cau- 
tiously so  that  only  their  ears  and  eyes  showed 
above  the  rim  of  the  little  hollow  where  they 
hid.  So  they  lay,  tense,  alert,  ready,  watching 
with  eager,  inquisitive  eyes  the  two  children 
drawing  steadily  nearer,  the  only  sign  of  life 
in  the  whole  wide,  desolate  landscape. 

Follow  the  back  trail  of  the  snow-shoes 
now,  while  the  wolves  are  waiting,  and  it 
leads  you  over  the  great  barren  into  the 
gloomy  spruce  woods ;  beyond  that  it  crosses 
two  more  barrens  and  stretches  of  intervening 
forest ;  then  up  a  great  hill  and  down  into  a 
valley,  where  the  lodge  lay  hidden,  buried 
deep  under  Newfoundland  snows. 


Here  the  fishermen  lived,  sleeping  away 
the  bitter  winter.  In  the  late  autumn  they 
had  left  the  fishing  village  at  Harbor  Weal, 


147 


7/3/Isffiat  Cross 


driven  out  like  the  wild  ducks  by  the  fierce 
gales  that  raged  over  the  whole  coast.  With 
their  abundant  families  and  scant  provisions 
they  had  followed  the  trail  up  the  Southwest 
Brook  till  it  doubled  around  the  mountain 
and  led  into  a  great  silent  wood,  sheltered 
on  every  side  by  the  encircling  hills.  Here 
the  tilts  were  built  with  double  walls,  filled  in 
between  with  leaves  and  moss,  to  help  the 
little  stoves  that  struggled  bravely  with  the 
terrible  cold ;  and  the  roofs  were  covered 
over  with  poles  and  bark,  or  with  the  brown 
sails  that  had  once  driven  the  fishing-boats 
out  and  in  on  the  wings  of  the  gale.  The  -N. 
high  mountains  on  the  west  stood  between  <f- 
them  and  the  icy  winds  that  swept  down 
over  the  sea  from  the  Labrador  and  the 
Arctic  wastes;  wood  in  abundance  was  at 
their  doors,  and  the  trout-stream  that  sang 
all  day  long  under  its  bridges  of  snow  and 
ice  was  always  ready  to  brim  their  kettles 
out  of  its  abundance.  7; r»~s3 

~~£- 


WOW 


So  the  new  life  began  pleasantly  enough ; 
but  as  the  winter  wore  away  and  provi- 
sions  grew  scarce  and  game  vanished  from 
the  coverts,  they  all  felt  the  fearful  pinch 
of  famine.  Every  morning  now  a  confused 
circle  of  tracks  in  the  snow  showed  where 
the  wild  prowlers  of  the  woods  had  come 
and  sniffed  at  the  very  doors  of  the  tilts  in 
their  ravening  hunger. 

Noel's  father  and  Old  Tomah  were  far 
away,  trapping,  in  the  interior;  and  to  Noel 
with  his  snares  and  his  bow  and  arrows  fell 
the  pleasant  task  of  supplying  the  family's 
need  when  the  stock  of  dried  fish  melted 
away.  On  this  March  morning  he  had 
started  with  Mooka  at  daylight  to  cross  the 
mountains  to  some  great  barrens  where  he 
had  found  tracks  and  knew  that  a  few  herds 
of  caribou  were  still  feeding.  The  sun  was 
dimmed  as  it  rose,  and  the  sun-dogs  gave 
mute  warning  of  the  coming  storm ;  but  the 
cupboard  was  empty  at  home,  and  even  a 
little  hunter  thinks  first  of  the  game  he  is 
following  and  lets  the  storm  take  care  of 
itself.  So  they  hurried  on  unheeding, —  Noel 


with  his  bow  and  arrows,  Mooka  with  a  little 
bag  containing  a  loaf  and  a  few  dried  cap- 
lin,  — peering  under  every  brush  pile  for  the 
shining  eyes  of  a  rabbit,  and  picking  up 
one  big  grouse  and  a  few  ptarmigan  among 
the  bowlders  of  a  great  bare  hillside.  On 
the  edges  of  the  great  barren  under  the  Top 
Gallants  they  found  the  fresh  tracks  of  feed- 
ing caribou,  and  were  following  eagerly  when 
they  ran  plump  into  the  wolf  trail. 

Now  by  every  law  of  the  chase  the  game 
belonged  to  these  earlier  hunters ;  and  by 
every  power  in  their  gaunt,  famished  bodies 
the  wolves  meant  to  have  it.  So  said  the 
trail.  Every  stealthy  advance  in  single  file 
across  the  open,  every  swift  rush  over  the  hol- 
lows that  might  hide  them  from  eyes  watch- 
ing back  from  the  distant  woods,  showed 
the  wolves'  purpose  clear  as  daylight;  and 
had  Noel  been  wiser  he  would  have  read  a 
warning  from  the  snow  and  turned  aside. 
But  he  only  drew  his  longest,  keenest  arrow 
and  pressed  on  more  eagerly  than  before. 

The  two  trails  had  crossed  each  other  at 
last.  Beginning  near  together,  one  on  the 


mountains,  the  other  by  the  sea,  they  had 
followed  their  separate  devious  ways,  now 
S  far  apart  in  the  glad  bright  summer,  now 
drawing  together  in  the  moonlight  of  the 
winter's  night.  At  times  the  makers  of  the 
trails  had  watched  each  other  in  secret,  shyly, 
inquisitively,  at  a  distance ;  but  always  fear 
or  cunning  had  kept  them  apart,  the  boy 
with  his  keen  hunter's  interest  baffled  and 
whetted  by  the  brutes'  wariness,  and  the 
wolves  drawn  to  the  superior  being  by  that 
subtle  instinct  that  once  made  glad  hunting- 
dogs  and  collies  of  the  wild  rangers  of  the 
plains,  and  that  still  leads  a  wolf  to  follow 
and  watch  the  doings  of  men  with  intense 
curiosity.  Now  the  trails  had  met  fairly  in 
the  snow,  and  a  few  steps  more  would  bring 
the  boy  and  the  wolf  face  to  face. 

Noel  was  stealing  along  warily,  his  arrow 
ready  on  the  string.  Mooka  beside  him  was 
watching  a  faint  cloud  of  mist,  the  breath 
of  caribou,  that  blurred  at  times  the  dark 
tree-line  in  the  distance,  when  one  of  those 
mysterious  warnings  that  befall  the  hunter 


in  the  far  North  rested  upon  them  suddenly 
like  a  heavy  hand. 

I  know  not  what  it  is,  —  what  lesser  pres- 
sure of  air,  to  which  we  respond  like  a  ba- 
rometer ;  or  what  unknown  chords  there  are 
within  us  that  sleep  for  years  in  the  midst 
of  society  and  that  waken  and  answer,  like 
an  animal's,  to  the  subtle  influence  of  nature, 
—  but  one  can  never  be  watched  by  an  unseen 
wild  animal  without  feeling  it  vaguely;  and 
one  can  never  be  so  keen  on  the  trail  that 
the  storm,  before  it  breaks,  will  not  whisper 
a  warning  to  turn  back  to  shelter  before  it  is 
too  late.  To  Noel  and  Mooka,  alone  on  the 
barrens,  the  sun  was  no  dimmer  than  before ; 
the  heavy  gray  bank  of  clouds  still  held  sul- 
lenly to  its  place  on  the  horizon;  and  no 
eyes,  however  keen,  would  have  noticed  the 
tiny  dark  spots  that  centered  and  glowed 
upon  them  over  the  rim  of  the  little  hollow 
where  the  wolves  were  watching.  Neverthe- 
less, a  sudden  chill  fell  upon  them  both. 
They  stopped  abruptly,  shivering  a  bit,  draw- 
ing closer  together  and  scanning  the  waste 
keenly  to  know  what  it  all  meant. 


Tm/foffiatCros 
fnJ&&5now 


"  Mitcheegeesookh,  the  storm !  "  said    Noel 
sharply ;    and    without    another   word    they 
•  °      turned  and  hurried  back  on  their  own  trail. 

In  a  short  half.hour  the  world  would  be 

swallowed  up  in  chaos.  To  be  caught  out 
on  the  barrens  meant  to  be  lost;  and  to 
be  lost  here  without  fire  and  shelter  meant 
death,  swift  and  sure.  So  they  ran  on,  hop- 
ing to  strike  the  woods  before  the  blizzard 
burst  upon  them. 

They  were  scarcely  half-way  to  shelter 
when  the  white  flakes  began  to  whirl  around 
them.  With  startling,  terrible  swiftness  the 
familiar  world  vanished;  the  guiding  trail 
was  blotted  out,  and  nothing  but  a  wolf's 
instinct  could  have  held  a  straight  course 
in  the  blinding  fury  of  the  storm.  Still  they 
held  on  bravely,  trying  in  vain  to  keep  their 
direction  by  the  eddying  winds,  till  Mooka 
stumbled  twice  at  the  same  hollow  over  a 
hidden  brook,  and  they  knew  they  were  run- 
ning blindly  in  a  circle  of  death.  Frightened 
at  the  discovery  they  turned,  as  the  caribou 
do,  keeping  their  backs  steadily  to  the  winds, 
and  drifted  slowly  away  down  the  long  barren. 


Hour  after  hour  they  struggled  on,  hand 
in  hand,  without  a  thought  of  where  they 
were  going.  Twice  Mooka  fell  and  lay  still, 
but  was  dragged  to  her  feet  and  hurried  on- 
ward again.  The  little  hunter's  own  strength 
was  almost  gone,  when  a  low  moan  rose 
steadily  above  the  howl  and  hiss  of  the  gale. 
It  was  the  spruce  woods,  bending  their  tops 
to  the  blast  and  groaning  at  the  strain. 
With  a  wild  whoop  Noel  plunged  forward, 
and  the  next  instant  they  were  safe  within 
the  woods.  All  around  them  the  flakes  sifted 
steadily,  silently  down  into  the  thick  covert,  .^ 
while  the  storm  passed  with  a  great  roar  over  U^- 
their  heads. 

In  the  lee  of  a  low-branched  spruce  they 
stopped  again,  as  though  by  a  common  im- 
pulse, while  Noel  lifted  his  hands.  "  Thanks, 
thanks,  Keesuolukh  ;  we  can  take  care  of  our- 
selves now,"  the  brave  little  heart  was  sing- 
ing under  the  upstretched  arms.  Then  they 
tumbled  into  the  snow  and  lay  for  a  mo- 
ment utterly  relaxed,  like  two  tired  animals, 
in  that  brief,  delicious  rest  which  follows  a 
terrible  struggle  with  the  storm  and  cold. 


s~~ 


154 


First  they  ate  a  little  of  their  bread  and 
fish  to  keep  up  their  spirits;  then  —  for  the 

™'/n  fAa'^rtsn^  storm  tria^  was  upon  them  might  last   for 
/ji fftu St/On      j  ,1  •  i    i^ 

days  —  they  set  about  preparing  a  shelter. 

With  a  little  search,  whooping  to  each  other 
lest  they  stray  away,  they  found  a  big  dry 
stub  that  some  gale  had  snapped  off  a  few 
feet  above  the  snow.  While  Mooka  scurried 
about,  collecting  birch  bark  and  armfuls  of 
dry  branches,  Noel  took  off  his  snow-shoes 
and  began  with  one  of  them  to  shovel  away 
the  snow  in  a  semicircle  around  the  base  of 
the  stub.  In  a  short  half-hour  he  had  a  deep 
hole  there,  with  the  snow  banked  up  around 
it  to  the  height  of  his  head.  Next  with  his 
knife  he  cut  a  lot  of  light  poles  and  scrub 
spruces  and,  sticking  the  butts  in  his  snow- 
bank, laid  the  tops,  like  the  sticks  of  a  wig- 
wam, firmly  against  the  big  stub.  A  few 
armfuls  of  spruce  boughs  shingled  over  this 
roof,  and  a  few  minutes'  work  shoveling 
snow  thickly  upon  them  to  hold  them  in 
place  and  to  make  a  warm  covering;  then 
a  doorway,  or  rather  a  narrow  tunnel,  just 
beyond  the  stub  on  the  straight  side  of  the 

•.-svcv-vp,  e»v  es; 

m 


\\ 


:P 


semicircle,  and  their  commoosie  was  all  ready. 
Let  the  storm  roar  and  the  snow  sift  down! 
The  thicker  it  fell  the  warmer  would  be  their 


shelter.  They  laughed  and  shouted  now  as 
they  scurried  out  and  in,  bringing  boughs 
for  a  bed  and  the  fire-wood  which  Mooka 
had  gathered. 

Against  the  base  of  the  dry  stub  they 
built  their  fire,  —  a  wee,  sociable  little  fire 
such  as  an  Indian  always  builds,  which  is 
far  better  than  a  big  one,  for  it  draws  you 
near  and  welcomes  you  cheerily,  instead  of 
driving  you  away  by  its  smoke  and  great 
heat.  Soon  the  big  stub  itself  began  to  burn, 
glowing  steadily  with  a  heat  that  filled  the 
snug  little  commoosie,  while  the  smoke  found 
its  way  out  of  the  hole  in  the  roof  which 
Noel  had  left  for  that  purpose.  Later  the 
stub  burned  through  to  its  hollow  center, 
and  then  they  had  a  famous  chimney,  which 
soon  grew  hot  and  glowing  inside,  and  added 
its  mite  to  the  children's  comfort. 

Noel  and  Mooka  were  drowsy  now;  but 
before  the  long  night  closed  in  upon  them 
they  had  gathered  more  wood,  and  laid  aside 


155 

Tw/IsffiatCmss 
wow 


some  wisps  of  birch  bark  to  use  when  they 
should  wake,  cold  and  shivering,  and  find 
their  little  fire  gone  out  and  the  big  stub 
losing  its  cheery  glow.  Then  they  lay  down 
to  rest,  and  the  night  and  the  storm  rolled 
on  unheeded. 

Towards  morning  they  fell  into  a  heavy 
sleep ;  for  the  big  stub  began  to  burn  more 
freely  as  the  wind  changed,  and  they  need 
not  stir  every  half-hour  to  feed  their  little 
fire  and   keep  from  freezing.     It  was  broad 
j  daylight,  the  storm  had  ceased,  and  a  wood- 
j  pecker  was  hammering  loudly  on  a  hollow 
shell  over  their  heads  when  they  started  up, 
,  wondering  vaguely  where  they  were.    Then 
while  Noel  broke  out  of  the  commoosie,  which 
was  fairly  buried  under  the  snow,  to  find  out 
where  he  was,  Mooka  rebuilt  the  fire  and 
plucked  a  ptarmigan  and  set  it  to  toasting 
with  the  last  of  their  bread  over  the  coals. 

Noel  came  back  soon  with  a  cheery  whoop 
to  tell  the  little  cook  that  they  had  drifted 
before  the  storm  down  the  whole  length  of 
the  great  barren,  and  were  camped  now  on 
the  opposite  side,  just  under  the  highest  ridge 


of  the  Top  Gallants.  There  was  not  a  track 
on  the  barrens,  he  said;  not  a  sign  of  wolf  or 
caribou,  which  had  probably  wandered  deeper 
into  the  woods  for  shelter.  So  they  ate  their 
bread  to  the  last  crumb  and  their  bird  to  the 
last  bone,  and,  giving  up  all  thought  of  hunt- 
ing, started  up  the  big  barren,  heading  for 
the  distant  lodge,  where  they  had  long  since 
been  given  up  for  lost. 

They  had  crossed  the  barren  and  a  mile  of 
thick  woods  beyond  when  they  ran  into  the 
fresh  trail  of  a  dozen  caribou.  Following  it 
swiftly  they  came  to  the  edge  of  a  much 
smaller  barren  that  they  had  crossed  yes- 
terday, and  saw  at  a  glance  that  the  trail 
stretched  straight  across  it.  Not  a  caribou 
was  in  sight;  but  they  might  nevertheless 
be  feeding,  or  resting  in  the  woods  just 
beyond;  and  for  the  little  hunters  to  show 
themselves  now  in  the  open  would  mean 
that  they  would  become  instantly  the  target 
for  every  keen  eye  that  was  watching  the 
back  trail.  So  they  started  warily  to  circle 
the  barren,  keeping  just  within  the  fringe  of 
woods  out  of  sight. 


They  had  gone  scarcely  a  hundred  steps 
when  Noel  whipped  out  a  long  arrow  and 
pointed  silently  across  the  open.  From  the 
woods  on  the  other  side  the  caribou  had 
broken  out  of  a  dozen  tunnels  under  the 
spruces,  and  came  trotting  back  in  their  old 
trails,  straight  down-wind  to  where  the  little 
hunters  were  hiding. 

The  deer  were  acting  queerly, — now  plun- 
ging away  with  the  high,  awkward  jumps 
that  caribou  use  when  startled ;  now  swing- 
ing off  on  their  swift,  tireless  rack,  and  before 
they  had  settled  to  their  stride  halting  sud- 
denly to  look  back  and  wag  their  ears  at  the 
trail.  For  Megaleep  is  full  of  curiosity  as  a 
wild  turkey,  and  always  stops  to  get  a  little 
entertainment  out  of  every  new  thing  that 
does  not  threaten  him  with  instant  death. 
Then  out  of  the  woods  behind  them  trotted 
five  white  wolves, — not  hunting,  certainly! 
for  whenever  the  caribou  stopped  to  look  the 
wolves  sat  down  on  their  tails  and  yawned. 
One  lay  down  and  rolled  over  and  over  in 
the  soft  snow;  another  chased  and  capered 
after  his  own  brush, 


whirling  round  and  round  like  a  little  whirl- 


159 


wind,  and  the  shrill  ki-yiol  a  cub  wolf  playing 

came  faintly  across  the  barren.  7/V//smt &05S 

It  was  a  strange  scene,  yet  one  often  wit-. 
nessed  on  the  lonely  plains  of  the  far  North : 
the  caribou  halting,  running  away,  and  halt- 
ing again  to  look  back  and  watch  the  queer 
antics  of  their  big  enemies,  which  seemed 
now  so  playful  and  harmless;  the  cunning 
wolves  playing  on  the  game's  curiosity  at 
every  turn,  knowing  well  that  if  once  fright- 
ened the  deer  would  break  away  at  a  pace 
which  would  make  pursuit  hopeless.  So  they 
followed  rather  than  drove  the  foolish  deer 
across  the  barren,  holding  them  with  monkey 
tricks  and  kitten's  capers,  and  restraining 
with  an  iron  grip  their  own  fearful  hunger 
and  the  blind  impulse  to  rush  in  headlong 
and  have  it  all  quickly  over. 

Kneeling  behind  a  big  spruce,  Noel  was 
trying  nervously  the  spring  and  temper  of 
his  long  bow,  divided  in  desire  between  the 
caribou,  \vhich  they  needed  sadly  at  home, 
and  one  of  the  great  wolves  whose  death 
would  give  him  a  place  among  the  mighty 


i6o 


hunters,  when  Mooka  clutched  his  arm,  her 
eyes  snapping  with  excitement,  her  finger 
Pomting  silently  back  on  their  own  trail.  A 
vague  shadow  glided  swiftly  among  the  trees. 
An  enormous  white  wolf  appeared,  vanished, 
came  near  them  again,  and  crouched  down 
under  a  low  spruce  branch  waiting. 

Again  the  two  trails  had  crossed  in  the 
snow.  The  big  wolf  as  he  appeared  had 
thrust  his  nose  into  the  snow-shoe  tracks, 
and  a  sniff  or  two  told  him  everything, — 
who  had  passed,  and  how  long  ago,  and 
what  they  were  doing,  and  how  far  ahead 
they  were  now  waiting.  But  the  caribou 
were  coming,  coaxed  along  marvelously  by 
the  cubs  and  the  old  mother;  and  the  great 
silent  wolf,  that  had  left  the  pack  playing 
with  the  game  while  he  circled  the  barren 
at  top  speed,  now  turned  to  the  business 
in  hand  with  no  thought  nor  fear  of  harm 
from  the  two  children  whom  he  had  watched 
but  yesterday. 

Not  so  Noel.  The  fire  blazed  out  in  his 
eyes ;  the  long  bow  swung  to  the  wolf,  bend- 
ing like  a  steel  spring,  and  the  feathered 


shaft  of  an  arrow  lay  close  against  the  boy's 
cheek.  But  Mooka  caught  his  arm  — 

"  Look,  Noel,  his  ear !  Malsunsis,  my  lit- 
tle wolf  cub,"  she  breathed  excitedly.  And 
Noel,  with  a  great  wonder  in  his  eyes,  slacked 
his  bow,  while  his  thoughts  jumped  far  away 
to  the  den  on  the  mountains  where  the  trail 
began,  and  to  three  little  cubs  playing  like 
kittens  with  the  grasshoppers  and  the  cloud 
shadows ;  for  the  great  wolf  that  lay  so  still 
near  them,  his  eyes  fixed  in  a  steady  glow 
upon  the  coming  caribou,  had  one  ear  bent 
sharply  forward,  like  a  leaf  that  has  been 
creased  between  the  fingers. 

Again  Mooka  broke  the  tense  silence  in 
a  low  whisper.  "  How  many  wolf  trails  you 
see  yesterday,  little  brother  ?  " 

"Seven,"  said  Noel,  whose  eyes  already 
had  the  cunning  of  Old  Tomah's  to  under- 
stand everything. 

"  Then  where  tother  wolf  ?  Only  six  here," 
breathed  Mooka,  looking  timidly  all  around, 
fearing  to  find  the  steady  glare  of  green 
eyes  fixed  upon  them  from  the  shadow  of 
every  thicket. 


162 

Tffii/sI&atQvss 


Noel  stirred  uneasily.  Somewhere  close  at 
hand  another  huge  wolf  was  waiting;  and  a 
wholesome  fear  fell  upon  him,  with  a  shiver 
at  the  thought  of  how  near  he  had  come  in 
his  excitement  to  bringing  the  whole  savage 
pack  snarling  about  his  ears. 

A  snort  of  alarm  cut  short  his  thinking. 
There  at  the  edge  of  the  wood,  not  twenty 
feet  away,  stood  a  caribou,  pointing  his  ears 
at  the  children  whom  he  had  almost  stumbled 
over  as  he  ran,  thinking  only  of  the  wolves 
behind.  The  long  bow  sprang  back  of  itself ; 
an  arrow  buzzed  like  a  wasp  and  buried  it- 
self deep  in  the  white  chest.  Like  a  flash  a 
second  arrow  followed  as  the  stag  turned 
away,  and  with  a  jump  or  two  he  sank  to 
his  knees,  as  if  to  rest  awhile  in  the  snow. 

But  Mooka  scarcely  saw  these  things. 
Her  eyes  were  fastened  on  the  great  white 
wolf  which  she  had  claimed  for  her  own 
when  he  was  a  toddling  cub.  He  lay  still 
as  a  stone  under  the  tip  of  a  bending 
spruce  branch,  his  eyes  following  every 
motion  of  a  young  bull  caribou  which  three 
of  the  wolves  had  singled  out  of  the  herd 


"  A  quick  snap  where  the 
heart  lay  " 


and  were  now  guiding  surely  straight  to 
his  hiding-place. 

The  snort  and  plunge  of  the  smitten  ani- 
mal  startled  this  young  stag  and  he  turned 
aside  from  his  course.  Like  a  shadow  the  big 
wolf  that  Mooka  was  watching  changed  his 
place  so  as  to  head  the  game,  while  two  of 
the  pack  on  the  open  barrens  slipped  around 
the  caribou  and  turned  him  back  again  to  the 
woods.  At  the  edge  of  the  cover  the  stag 
stopped  for  a  last  look,  pointing  his  ears  first 
at  Noel's  caribou,  which  now  lay  very  still  in 
the  snow,  then  at  the  wolves,  which  with  quick 
instinct  had  singled  him  out  of  the  herd,  know- 
ing in  some  subtle  way  he  was  watched  from 
beyond,  and  which  gathered  about  him  in  a 
circle,  sitting  on  their  tails  and  yawning. 
Slowly,  silently  Mooka's  wolf  crept  forward, 
pushing  his  great  body  through  the  snow. 
A  terrific  rush,  a  quick  snap  under  the  stag's 
chest  just  behind  the  fore  legs,  where  the 
heart  lay ;  then  the  big  wolf  leaped  aside  and 
sat  down  quietly  again  to  watch. 

It  was  soon  finished.  The  stag  plunged 
away,  settled  into  his  long  rack,  slowed  down 


to  a  swaying,  weakening  trot.  After  him  at 
a  distance  glided  the  big  wolf,  lapping  eagerly 
at  the  crimson  trail,  but  holding  himself  with 
tremendous  will  power  from  rushing  in  head- 
long and  driving  the  game,  which  might 
run  for  miles  if  too  hard  pressed.  The  stag 
sank  to  his  knees ;  a  sharp  yelp  rang  like  a 
pistol-shot  through  the  still  woods ;  then  the 
pack  rolled  in  like  a  whirlwind,  and  it  was 
all  over. 

Creeping  near  on  the  trail  the  little  hunters 
crouched  under  a  low  spruce,  watching  as  if 
fascinated  the  wild  feast  of  the  wolves.  Noel's 
bow  was  ready  in  his  hand;  but  luckily  the 
sight  of  these  huge,  powerful  brutes  over- 
whelmed him  and  drove  all  thoughts  of  kill- 
ing out  of  his  head.  Mooka  plucked  him  by 
the  sleeve  at  last,  and  pointed  silently  home- 
wards. It  was  surely  time  to  go,  for  the  big- 
gest wolf  had  already  stretched  himself  and 
was  licking  his  paws,  while  the  two  cubs 
with  full  stomachs  were  rolling  over  and  over 
and  biting  each  other  playfully  in  the  snow. 
Silently  they  stole  away,  stopping  only  to 
tie  a  rag  to  a  pointed  stick,  which  they 


thrust  between  their  own  caribou's  ribs  to 
make  the  wolves  suspicious  and  keep  them 
from  tearing  the  game  and  eating  the  tidbits 
while  the  little  hunters  hurried  away  to  bring 
the  men  with  their  guns  and  dog  sledges. 

They  had  almost  crossed  the  second  bar- 
ren when  Mooka,  looking  back  uneasily  from 
the  edge  of  the  woods,  saw  a  single  big  wolf 
emerge  across  the  barren  and  follow  swiftly 
on  their  trail.  Startled  at  the  sight,  they 
turned  swiftly  to  run;  for  that  terrible  feel- 
ing which  sweeps  over  a  hunter,  when  for 
the  first  time  he  finds  himself  hunted  in 
his  turn,  had  clutched  their  little  hearts  and 
crushed  all  their  confidence.  A  sudden  panic 
seized  them;  they  rushed  away  for  the  woods, 
running  side  by  side  till  they  broke  into  the 
fringe  of  evergreen  that  surrounded  the  bar- 
ren. There  they  dropped  breathless  under  a 
low  fir  and  turned  to  look. 

"It  was  wrong  to  run,  little 
brother,"  whispered  Mooka. 

"Why?"  said  Noel. 

"  Cause    Wayeeses   see  it,  and  think 
'fraid." 


167 

ffi/IsffiatCross 
/nff&JSnow 


"  But  I  was  'fraid  out  there,  little  sister," 
confessed  Noel  bravely.  "  Here  we  can  climb 
tree ;  good  chance  shoot  um  with  my  arrows." 

Like  two  frightened  rabbits  they  crouched 
under  the  fir,  staring  back  with  wild  round 
eyes  over  the  trail,  fearing  every  instant  to 
see  the  savage  pack  break  out  of  the  woods 
and  come  howling  after  them.  But  only  the 
single  big  wolf  appeared,  trotting  quietly 
along  in  their  footsteps.  Within  bowshot  he 
stopped  with  head  raised,  looking,  listening 
intently.  Then,  as  if  he  had  seen  them  in 
their  hiding,  he  turned  aside,  circled  widely 
to  the  left,  and  entered  the  woods  far  below. 

Again  the  two  little  hunters  hurried  on 
through  the  silent,  snow-filled  woods,  a 
strange  disquietude  settling  upon  them  as 
they  felt  they  were  followed  by  unseen  feet. 
Soon  the  feeling  grew  too  strong  to  resist. 
Noel  with  his  bow  ready,  and  a  strange  chill 
trickling  like  cold  water  along  his  spine,  was 
hiding  behind  a  tree  watching  the  back  trail, 
when  a  low  exclamation  from  Mooka  made 
him  turn.  There  behind  them,  not  ten  steps 
away,  a  huge  white  wolf  was  sitting  quietly 


on  his  tail,  watching  them  with  absorbed, 
silent  intentness. 

Fear  and  wonder,  and  swift  memories  of 
Old  Tomah  and  the  wolf  that  had  followed 
him  when  he  was  lost,  swept  over  Noel  in  a 
flood.  He  rose  swiftly,  the  long  bow  bent, 
and  again  a  deadly  arrow  cuddled  softly 
against  his  cheek;  but  there  were  doubts 
and  fears  in  his  eye  till  Mooka  caught  his 
arm  with  a  glad  little  laugh  — 

"  My  cub,  little  brother.  See  his  ear,  and 
oh,  his  tail !  Watch  urn  tail,  little  brother." 
For  at  the  first  move  the  big  wolf  sprang 
alertly  to  his  feet,  looked  deep  into  Mooka's 
eyes  with  that  intense,  penetrating  light 
which  serves  a  wild  animal  to  read  your 
very  thoughts,  and  instantly  his  great  bushy 
tail  was  waving  its  friendly  greeting. 

It  was  indeed  Malsunsis,  the  cub.  Before 
the  great  storm  broke  he  had  crouched  with 
the  pack  in  the  hollow  just  in  front  of  the 
little  hunters ;  and  although  the  wolves  were 
hungry,  it  was  with  feelings  of  curiosity  only 
that  they  watched  the  children,  who  seemed 
to  the  powerful  brutes  hardly  more  to  be 


169 

7iv//sffiat  Cross 


wow 


feared  than  a  couple  of  snowbirds  hopping 
across  the  vast  barren.  But  they  were  chil- 
dren of  men  —  that  was  enough  for  the  white- 
wolf  packs,  which  for  untold  years  had  never 
been  known  to  molest  a  man.  This  morn- 
ing Malsunsis  had  again  crossed  their  trail. 
He  had  seen  them  lying  in  wait  for  the  cari- 
bou that  his  own  pack  were  driving;  had 
seen  Noel  smite  the  bull,  and  was  filled  with 
wonder;  but  his  own  business  kept  him  still 
in  hiding.  Now,  well  fed  and  good-natured, 
but  more  curious  than  ever,  he  had  followed 
the  trail  of  these  little  folk  to  learn  some- 
thing about  them. 

Mooka  as  she  watched  him  was  brim  full 
of  an  eagerness  which  swept  away  all  fear. 
"  Tomah  says,  wolf  and  Injun  hunt  just 
alike ;  keep  ver'  still ;  don't  trouble  game 
'cept  when  he  hungry,"  she  whispered.  "  Says 
too,  Keesuolukh  made  us  friends  'fore  white 
man  come,  spoil  um  everything.  Das  what 
Malsunsis  say  now  wid  hees  tail  and  eyes; 
only  way  he  can  talk  um,  little  brother.  No, 
no"  —  for  Noel's  bow  was  still  strongly  bent, 
—  "you  must  not  shoot.  Malsunsis  think 


we  friends."  And  trusting  her  own  brave 
little  heart  she  stepped  in  front  of  the  deadly 
arrow  and  walked  straight  to  the  big  wolf, 
which  moved  aside  timidly  and  sat  down 
again  at  a  distance,  with  the  friendly  expres- 
sion of  a  lost  collie  in  eyes  and  ears  and 
wagging  tail  tip. 

Cheerfully  enough  Noel  slacked  his  long 
bow,  for  the  wonder  of  the  woods  was  strong 
upon  him,  and  the  hunting-spirit,  which  leads 
one  forth  to  frighten  and  kill  and  to  break 
the  blessed  peace,  had  vanished  in  the  better 
sense  of  comradeship  which  steals  over  one 
when  he  watches  the  Wood  Folk  alone  and 
friendly  in  the  midst  of  the  solitudes.  As 
they  went  on  their  way  again  the  big  wolf 
trotted  after  them,  keeping  close  to  their 
trail  but  never  crossing  it,  and  occasion- 
ally ranging  up  alongside,  as  if  to  keep 
them  in  the  right  way.  Where  the  woods 
were  thickest  Noel,  with  no  trail  to  guide 
him,  swung  uncertainly  to  left  and  right, 
peering  through  the  trees  for  some  land- 
mark on  the  distant  hills.  Twice  the  big 
wolf  trotted  out  to  one  side,  returned  and 


trotted  out  again  in  the  same  direction ;  and 
Noel,  taking  the  subtle  hint,  as  an  Indian 
always  does,  bore  steadily  to  the  right  till 
the  great  ridge,  beyond  which  the  Lodge 
was  hidden,  loomed  over  the  tree-tops.  And 
to  this  day  he  believes  —  and  it  is  impossi- 
ble, for  I  have  tried,  to  dissuade  him  —  that 
the  wolf  knew  where  they  were  going  and 
tried  in  his  own  way  to  show  them. 

So  they  climbed  the  long  ridge  to  the 
summit,  and  from  the  deep  valley  beyond 
the  smoke  of  the  Lodge  rose  up  to  guide 
them.  There  the  wolf  stopped;  and  though 
Noel  whistled  and  Mooka  called  cheerily,  as 
they  would  to  one  of  their  own  huskies  that 
they  had  learned  to  love,  Malsunsis  would 
go  no  farther.  He  sat  there  on  the  ridge, 
his  tail  sweeping  a  circle  in  the  snow  behind 
him,  his  ears  cocked  to  the  friendly  call  and 
his  eyes  following  every  step  of  the  little 
hunters,  till  they  vanished  in  the  woods 
below.  Then  he  turned  to  follow  his  own 
way  in  the  wilderness. 


IN  QUEST? 


VAST  and  lonely  barren,  covered 
deep  with  soft-colored  mosses  and 
surrounded  by  gloomy  spruce  woods,  lies 
basking  in  the  early  morning  sunshine.  The 
first  sea-wind  has  just  come  to  call  it,  swing- 
ing a  fragrant  censer  over  the  earth  and 
rolling  up  the  mists  that  have  covered  it 
all  night  long.  Under  this  fleecy,  vanishing 
coverlet  the  plain  seems  to  stir  and  breathe 
deep  of  the  morning  incense  and  then  stretch 
itself  drowsily,  like  a  gray  wolf  just  awake. 
Here  and  there  little  ponds  or  flashets  of  ^ 
shallow  water  blink  and  quiver  in  the  light 
'75 


like    sleepy   eyes,    or   rest    in    soft    winding 
shadows  like  the  features  and  wrinkles  of  a 


great  Weather-beaten  face.  Silence  broods 
^  rVajp/  (///it  Qver  -^  Baking  visible  shape  in  the  form  of 
a  solitary  woods  raven  that  hangs  motion- 
less  high  in  air  on  sable  outstretched  wings. 
No  sign  of  life  moves  on  the  tranquil  face 
of  the  earth  or  water;  no  sound  breaks  the 
restful  stillness  save  the  cheeping  of  young 
plover  hiding  in  the  gray  moss,  and  a  low 
surge,  like  a  sound  in  a  dream,  drifting  in 
over  distant  woods  from  where  the  waves 
break  ranks  on  the  unnamed  shoals.  And 
here  —  unexpectedly,  as  good  things  come 
at  last  —  was  the  end  of  my  long  quest  to 
find  the  home  of  Waptonk  the  wild  goose. 

Ever  since  childhood  I  had  sought  him. 
In  the  spring  he  had  always  called  to  me 
from  the  high  heavens;  and  something  in 
the  ring  of  his  bugle-call,  something  in  the 
sight  of  that  living  arrow-head  driving  stead- 
ily northward,  as  if  the  heavens  that  bounded 
me  could  not  contain  so  free  a  spirit,  and 
something  perhaps  in  the  impulse  of  his  wild 
heart  which  called  him  far  away  from  the 


fields  of  men,  and  which  found  an  answer  in 

the  heart  of  the  boy  who  watched  him  till     _    ^ 

he  vanished   in  the  blue,  and  who  had  to  ™    f       J$L^ 

stay  on  the  farm  while  his  soul  was  away  to  ]M/'M Y~£- 

the  wilderness,  —  all  these  sights  and  sounds 

and  unknown  longings  had  bound  me  fast 

to  Waptonk  the  Wild,  and  made  me  resolve 

some  day  to  follow  him  and  find  out  what  it 

was  that  called  him  northward  when  brooks 

were  free  and  big  woods  budding  and  the 

spring  impulse  was  in  the  heart  of  all  living 

things. 

Later  Waptonk  had  called  to  me  again 
from  the  same  heavens ;  but  now  the  arrow- 
head pointed  southward,  and  the  flight  was 
altogether  different.  The  lines  of  the  wedge 
wavered  and  were  often  broken ;  it  held  closer 
to  earth  and  was  less  certain  in  its  magnifi- 
cent onward  rush ;  and  the  clear  full-throated 
bugle-calls  that  had  thrilled  the  boy's  heart 
with  their  springtime  clangor  gave  place  to 
a  curious  communicative  chatter,  in  which 
almost  every  note  rose  at  the  end  to  a  fal- 
setto. Now  and  then  a  strong,  clear  note, 
deeper  and  more  peremptory,  would  sound 


at  the  head  of  the  wedge,  and  instantly  the 
wings  would  cackle  an  answer  and  swing  into 


ketter  ijne.  but  tne  cry  had  lost  much  of  its 
joy  and  utter  freedom,  as  the  flight  had  lost 
its  power  and  swift  certainty. 
<^>^^  I  did  not  know  then,  in  the  autumn  days, 
that  these  were  mostly  young  birds  which  had 
never  before  followed  the  long  trail  ;  that  at 
the  head  of  every  wedge  was  one  of  the  old 
birds,  pointing  out  the  headlands  by  which 
they  shaped  their  course  ;  that  the  flight  was 
less  certain  because  the  goslings  had  not  yet 
reached  their  full  power  and  must  rest  by 
the  way;  and  that  the  cry  was  less  stirring 
because  spring  no  longer  called  them  away 
by  its  throbbing  love  life  and  by  the  sweet 
home  memories  of  quiet  nesting  places  in 
the  far  Northland.  Rather  were  they  driven 
away  from  the  things  they  loved;  and  now 
the  security  of  the  great,  free,  lonely  wilder- 
ness must  give  place  to  constant  watchful- 
ness in  a  hostile  land,  where  danger  lurked 
and  roared  out  upon  them  from  every  point 
and  bay  and  feeding-ground.  No  wonder  the 
flight  wavered  ;  no  wonder  the  young  voices 


rose  to  falsetto  in  amazement  at  the  change 

179 

from  the  quiet  little  pond,  which  had  been 

all  their  world,  to  the  vast  panorama  of  seas       .  "  ^ 

and  mountains  and  cities  of  men  spread  wide    2^,  T.w  5j^*~ 

jj^/3  Vl/I/ff<^^" 

beneath  their  wings.  ^T^M^ 

Then  in  the  autumn  days  the  boy,  like  .,     ?^v^ 

.         .  ^v  ^"^^^ 

all  the  rest  of  the  male  population  in  whom 

something  of  the  old  savage  lingered  under 
its  coat  of  civilization,  felt  the  hunter  stir 
within  him,  and  saw  visions  and  dreamed 
dreams  when  the  wild-goose  call  from  the 
heavens  came  down  to  him  as  a  kind  of  a 
challenge.  When  the  weather  was  stormy 
and  the  flight  was  low,  the  boy  would  climb 
stealthily  out  of  the  rear  window  of  the  barn 
with  the  forbidden  old  musket  close  to  his 
breast.  Keeping  the  barn  between  his  own 
line  of  flight  and  the  kitchen  windows,  he 
would  head  across  the  brown  fields  to  the 
woods,  holding  steadily  and  swiftly  on  his 
way  to  the  little  Widow  Dunkle's,  who  kept 
an  old  gray  goose.  Sometimes  he  begged, 
sometimes  he  bribed,  and  sometimes,  when 
the  flight  was  irresistible  and  the  widow 
away  from  home,  he  simply  appropriated 


i8o 

In  Quesfof 


*—»- #-+ 


what  he  wanted  with  all  his  heart.  There 
would  be  a  rush  among  the  fowls,  squawking 
and  quacking  of  hens  and  ducks,  and  one 
wild  clarion  yell  from  the  old  graylag  goose 
as  she  found  herself  in  chancery.  Then  the 
boy  would  scoot  and  dodge  away  to  the  big 
pond  in  the  woods,  with  the  old  musket  at 
trail  and  the  old  gray  goose  gripped  tight 
under  his  elbow,  konk-konking  her  resent- 
ment, but  sensible  enough,  as  all  geese  are 
when  you  take  them  right. 

Next  scene  in  the  little  comedy,  —  a  boy 
hidden  in  the  grass  and  bushes  of  a  lonely 
point,  scanning  the  heavens  as  if  at  any  mo- 
ment they  might  open  and  let  wonders  fall ; 
and  in  front  of  him  an  old  gray  goose,  with 
one  foot  anchored  to  a  brick,  swimming 
about  and  tip-tilting  her  tail  to  the  skies 
as  she  splashed  and  probed  the  bottom  for 
roots,  gabbling  to  herself  like  a  whole  flock 
of  geese  in  her  wonder  and  delight  at  her 
strange  surroundings.  And  when  at 
last  the  wild  geese  came,  and  out 
of  the  sky  came  tumbling  down 
'  the  stirring  clangor,  how  the 


centuries  of  domestic  servitude  fell  away  from 

the  old  graylag  like  a  useless  garment !    Tug- 

ging  at  the  stupid  brick,  with  outstretched 

neck  and  quivering  wings  she  recognized  her 

own  people  and  sent  up  a  wild  cry  to  call 

them  down  to  share  her  loneliness  —  perhaps, 

who  knows  ?  to  come  and  take  her  away  with  r^     *g  ""^ 

them.     Then  the  boy,  hugging  himself  and 

holding  his  breath  and  loving  the  old  goose 

supremely  for  her  help,  would  lie  still  as  a 

stone,  only  his  eyes  moving  to  follow  the 

flight  of  the  wild  birds  and  see  if  they  would 

come  down  to  his  bidding. 

Generally  the  wedge  kept  steadily  on, 
straight  and  true  to  its  course;  but  every 
head  was  bent  to  bugle  down  an  answer 
to  the  captive.  Then  the  boy's  heart  was 
touched  in  turning  away  from  the  high  flight 
to  watch  his  old  graylag.  Beating  her  use- 
less wings,  struggling  after  her  kindred  as 
far  as  the  anchor  string  would  allow,  she 
would  call  and  call,  and  all  the  wildness  of 
the  lonely  Northland  was  in  her  appealing 
summons.  Long  after  the  clangor  had  died 
away  to  a  faint  crackle  and  vanished  in 


immeasurable  distance,  she  would  sit  listen- 
ing with  neck  upstretched,  hearing,  and  in 


her  heart  answering,  the  call  which  had  died 
iP  rvajplOJlK  awav  On  the  boy's  less  sympathetic  ears. 

After  that  there  was  no  more  joyous  gab- 
bling  from  Graylag.  She  would  swim  about 
silently,  now  pecking  angrily  at  the  restrain- 
ing string,  now  raising  her  head  to  look  and 
listen  for  her  wild  kindred,  till  twilight  fell 
sadly  on  the  pond  and  she  would  go  home 
mute  and  passive  under  the  boy's  arm  again. 

One  stormy  day  great  luck  headed  towards 
the  boy  and  made  his  heart  jump  at  the 
thought  of  at  last  meeting  the  gray  wanderers 
of  the  upper  air  that  had  so  often  set  his 
heart  a-longing.  A  great  gang  of  wild  geese, 
flying  lower  than  usual,  with  the  sides  of 
their  wedge  broken  by  the  sleet  and  irregu- 
lar from  weariness,  passed  near  the  pond  on 
their  southern  migration.  Their  faint,  con- 
fused honking  roused  all  the  wild  longing  in 
the  heart  of  Old  Graylag.  Something  too  in 
their  call,  which  she  seemed  to  understand, 
made  her  sure  they  would  come  this  time, 
and  that  she  would  know  at  last  what  the 


longing  in  her  old  heart  meant.  As  she 
raised  herself  on  her  poor  wings  and  sent 
out  her  clamorous  appeal,  the  wild  leader 
stopped,  and  the  long  wedge  seemed  to 
tumble  together  in  a  dense  mass  of  cackle 
and  confusion.  Then  the  leader  whirled; 
above  the  clamor  came  the  deep  honk  of 
authority;  the  lines  formed  swiftly,  with 
marvelous  precision,  and  straight  up  the 
pond  to  the  boy's  hiding-place  they  came, 
a  glorious  big  wedge  of  birds,  honking,  honk- 
ing in  joy  at  so  good  a  resting-place,  and 
nearly  taking  the  heart  out  of  Old  Graylag 
as  she  clamored  and  tugged  at  her  anchor 
and  beat  the  water  with  her  wings. 

Then,  all  by  himself,  the  boy  saw  a  bit 
of  Waptonk's  drill  school  which  old  goose 
hunters  on  the  coast  have  looked  for  many 
years  in  vain.  High  overhead  they  came  till 
over  the  middle  of  the  pond,  when  the  leader 
whirled  sharply  to  the  right.  The  right-hand 
side  of  the  wedge  whirled  after  him,  while 
the  left  wing  halted  and  then  turned  in 
behind  the  leaders  in  a  single  long  line. 
Every  wing  was  now  set  stiffly ;  the  clangor 


suddenly  ceased,  and  down  they  came,  round 
and  around  in  a  beautiful  spiral,  as  if  sliding 
UUeSr  Of  ^own  on  an  invisible  winding  staircase.  Fol- 
lowing  the  big  leader  came  the  long,  magnify 
^  \y  cent  line,  which  swung  in  a  complete  curve 
above  him  and  half  around  the  circle  again ; 
all  with  set  wings  and  outstretched  necks, 
gliding,  wheeling,  curving  steadily  downward 
in  perfect  order  and  perfect  silence. 

It  was  marvelous,  the  grace,  the  precision, 
the  impressive  silence  of  the  stately  proces- 
sion down  the  spiral  staircase  of  the  winds, 
and  the  boy  forgot  the  hunter  in  his  intense 
wonder  and  admiration.  One  by  one  the 
great  birds  dropped  their  black  webbed  feet 
and  slid  gently  along  just  over  the  surface 
for  a  brief  moment,  and  then  dropped  with 
a  quiet,  restful  splash  into  the  water.  An 
instant  later  they  had  swung  together  and  a 
low,  eager  chatter  began  among  them. 

Now  Old  Graylag  alone  had  been  unim- 
pressed by  the  wonderful  descent,  for  other 
things  were  stirring  wildly  in  her  lonely 
heart.  All  the  while  they  were  coming 
down,  so  silent  and  stately,  she  kept  up  an 


'  When  he  winds  down  the  invisible  staircase 
of  the  winds  " 


hysterical  cackle,  with  a  wild  beating  of  pin-  ~ 
ions  and  a  frantic  tugging  at  the  anchor 
as  she  strove  mightily  to  join  her  kindred. 
As  they  swung  together  with  necks  up  sus- 
piciously  —  for  no  wild  water-fowl  likes  any 
welcome  or  demonstration  beyond  the  uni- 
versal  uplifting  of  wings  —  she  ceased  her 
wild  struggle  and  called  softly.  Instantly  the 
leader  answered  and  the  whole  flock  drew  in 
steadily  towards  the  shore. 

Behind  the  rough  screen  of  grass  and 
bushes  the  boy's  heart  began  to  beat  loudly 
as  he  clutched  his  long  musket.  The  hunter 
was  wide-awake  again,  and  here  were  the 
geese  —  great  splendid  birds  that  never  be- 
fore were  nearer  than  the  heavens  —  almost 
within  gunshot,  drawing  steadily  nearer  and 
calling  as  they  came  on.  In  front  of  him 
the  old  gray  goose,  full  of  a  nameless  excite- 
ment, jabbered  back  at  the  flock  and  swung 
rapidly  in  small  circles  about  her  anchor. 
Her  excitement  increased ;  the  flock  halted, 
wavered,  veered  aside ;  then  the  heart  of 
the  old  goose  went  after  them  in  a  wild 
honk!  with  a  break  in  it  like  the  fall  of 


a   tin   pan.     A   tug,    a   plunge,  a   flurry   of 
wings  ;  the  anchor  string  snapped  and  away 


she  went>  kaif  flyi^  half  running  over  the 
Water,  and  plunged  in  among  the  wild  birds 
^  ?  in  a  smother  of  spray.  In  an  instant  she  was 
swallowed  up  in  a  dense  circle  of  gray  backs 
and  slender  black  necks  with  white  cheek 
patches,  and  the  whole  flock  drew  swiftly 
away  into  open  water,  cackling  and  jabber- 
ing softly,  with  the  nasal  konk-a-konk  of  Old 
Graylag  sounding  incessantly  above  the 
hushed  chatter  of  her  wild  kindred. 

Late  that  day,  after  waiting  long,  cold 
hours  in  the  vain  hope  that  they  would  come 
near  my  hiding-place,  I  pushed  out  sadly  in 
a  leaky  old  tub  of  a  boat  to  catch  the  Widow 
Dunkle's  goose.  The  flock  took  alarm  while 
I  was  yet  far  away;  slanted  heavily  up-wind 
to  the  tree-tops,  where  with  much  calling 
and  answering  the  young  birds  fell  into  line, 
and  the  wedge  bore  away  swiftly  seaward. 
After  them  went  Old  Graylag  heartbroken, 
beating  her  heavy  way  over  the  water,  call- 
ing and  calling  again  to  the  flock  that  had 
now  become  only  a 


confused  tangle  of  wild  voices  over  the  tree- 
tops.  Straight  to  the  shore  she  went,  and 
across  a  little  wild  meadow,  still  follow- 
ing  the  flock.  When  I  caught  her  she  was 
waddling  bravely  through  the  woods,  stop- 
ping  anon  to  call  and  listen;  but  she  made 
no  resistance  when  I  tucked  her  under  my  Y^  ~r -^ 
elbow  and  carried  her  home  and  slipped  her, 
unobserved  in  the  darkness,  into  her  accus- 
tomed place  in  the  Widow  Dunkle's  duck 
coop. 

That  was  the  nearest  I  ever  came,  in  boy- 
hood days,  to  a  close  acquaintance  with 
Waptonk  the  Wild ;  but  always  in  the  fall 
his  voice  roused  the  hunter  as  no  other  sound 
ever  did ;  and  always  in  the  spring  his  clang- 
ing jubilate  aroused  the  longing  in  the  boy's 
heart  to  follow  after  him  and  find  out  what 
it  was  in  the  wild,  lonely  North  that  called 
him.  Later,  as  a  hunter,  I  grew  acquainted 
with  many  of  his  winter  ways,  watched  him 
feeding  on  the  shoals  or  standing  for  sleep 
on  the  lonely  sand  bars,  and  thrilled  to  the 
rustling  sweep  of  his  broad  wings  as  he 
swung  in  over  my  decoys. 


The  trained  geese  which  were  often  used 
190 

—  descendants    of    sundry    wing-tipped    or 

wounded  birds  that  had  been  saved  to  breed 
in  captivity  —  were  very  different  from  Old 

Graylas-  When the honk of wild seese was 

heard  and  the  long  wedge  wavered  over  the 
pond,  these  trained  birds  would  be  loosed  to 
circle  far  out  from  shore  and  with  wild 
clamor  call  down  their  wilder  kinsfolk.  Then 
slowly,  cautiously,  as  if  they  knew  well  the 
treacherous  work  they  were  doing,  they 
would  lead  the  wrild  birds  in  towards  the 
blind  till  within  range  of  the  hidden  gunners, 
when  they  would  scatter  suddenly  and  rush 
aside  to  get  out  of  the  way ;  and  the  decoyed 
and  wondering  geese  would  be  left  open  to 
the  murderous  fire  of  the  concealed  hunters. 
An  evil  work,  it  seemed  to  me,  in  which  I 
am  glad  to  remember  I  took  no  part  be- 
yond that  of  watching  with  intense  interest, 
and  wondering  at  the  cunning  patience  with 
which  the  old  pot-hunter  had  trained  his 
wild  confederates. 

Watching  these  trained  decoys  one  day, 
it  was  hard  to  realize  that  the  birds  were  but 


yesterday  the  wildest  and  wariest  of  all  the 
feathered  folk.    Then  the  startling  paradox 
occurred  to  me  that  the  very  wildest  of  the  '**  ^UGS^Sf 
creatures  are  the  easiest  to  tame  by  man  and        '  sL^s 

the  quickest  to  adopt  his  ways.    The  spar- 
rows that  live  about  our  houses  all  their  days 
have   little   fear   of   men;    but   at   the   first 
attempt  to  catch  them  they  are  suspicious 
for  life,  and  to  domesticate  them  would  be 
an  impossibility.    So  with  the  ruffed  grouse, 
a  very  tame  bird  in  his  native  wilderness, 
that  barely  moves  aside  to  let  men  pass ;  g? 
yet  all  attempts  to  domesticate  him  or  <?;' 
to  make  him  content  with  safe  quarters 
and  abundant  fare  have  been,  with  a  few  v , 
rare  exceptions,  unaccountable  failures.      * 
He  lets  you  come  near  and  watch  him 
readily  enough;    but  the  moment  you 
put  him  in  your  coop  the  very 
spirit  of  wildness  takes  posses-  v 
sion  of  him,  and  he  dies  in  the  * 
attempt  to  regain  his  freedom. 
The  wild  goose,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  wariest  and 
wildest  of  birds  when 


192 

In  Quest  of 


he  comes  among  us  in  his  migrations,  giving 
wide  berth  to  everything  that  has  the  least 
semblance  to  man  or  man's  invention,  and 
never  letting  you  get  within  rifle-shot  if  his 
wary  sentinels  can  detect  your  approach,  will 
feed  from  your  hand  after  he  has  been  a  few 
hours  in  your  coop ;  and  his  descendants  will 
take  a  permanent  and  contented  place  in  your 
barn-yard.  In  the  spring,  when  the  migra- 
tory fever  stirs  within  him,  he  will  answer 
the  clarion  call  of  his  fellows  in  the  sky  and 
spread  wide  his  wings  to  join  them;  but 
that  passes  speedily,  and  he  turns  back  to 
your  dooryard  and  seems  content  even  with 
the  clipped  wing  which  keeps  him  there 
while  his  brothers  and  kinsfolk  fade  away 
in  the  cold  blue  distance.  Cases  have  been 
known  in  which  a  wounded  goose,  having 
been  kept  all  winter,  has  flown  away  with  a 
passing  flock  into  the  unknown  North  dur- 
ing the  spring  migration,  and  returned 
the  next  fall  to  the  same  barn-yard, 
bringing  her  brood  with  her.  And 
so  with  the  turkeys  that  range  our 
fields ;  they  are  descendants  of  birds 


that  but  yesterday  were  ranging  the  woods 

as  wild  and    unapproachable  as   wilderness  _ 

The  first  great  lesson  I  learned  in  the 
years  of  following  the  wild  goose  as  a  hun- 
ter  was  one  of  tremendous  respect  for  his 
wariness  and  intelligence.  To  call  a  person 
a  goose  would  be  an  exaggerated  compli- 
ment, or  a  bit  of  pure  flattery,  if  one  but 
understood  what  he  was  saying.  Wherever 
he  feeds  in  the  open,  Waptonk  has  his  senti- 
nels posted  on  the  highest  point  of  observa- 
tion— wise  old  birds  that  know  their  business 
—  and  it  is  next  to  impossible  to  approach 
a  flock  without  being  detected.  Once  it  was 
enough  to  lead  a  cow  slowly  towards  where 
the  birds  were  feeding  on  the  stubble  and 
keep  yourself  hidden  on  the  farther  side  of 
the  grazing  animal ;  but  now  Waptonk  looks 
keenly  under  every  cow  to  see  if  she  have 
an  extra  pair  of  legs  or  no,  and  so  other  de- 
vices must  be  invented,  only  to  be  quickly 
fathomed  by  Waptonk's  nimble  wit,  and  then 
cast  aside  with  the  others  as  useless  things. 
On  the  coast  he  still  listens  to  the  voice  of 


his  kind  and  comes  to  the  trained  decoys; 
and  on  the  prairies  a  deep  pit  with  wounded 


to  stakes  all  about  it  and  honking 
their  fellows  will   sometimes  bring   him 
rc^IIU    near  enough   for  a   quick  shot.    But   these 
unfair  advantages  are  in  themselves  a  con- 
fession of  man's  failure;    since  by  his  own 
wit   and    aided   by  modern    firearms   he   is 
no  longer  able  to  contend  with  the  wit  of  a 
goose. 

Elsewhere,  especially  in  the  great  wheat- 
fields  of  the  Southwest,  there  is  a  humorous 
confession  of  man's  impotence  and  Wap- 
tonk's  superiority  in  the  queer  "goose  cav- 
alry," —  horsemen  that  go  shooting  and 
shouting  about  to  frighten  away  from  the 
growing  wheat  the  thronging  thousands  of 
wild  geese  that  cannot  be  circumvented  or 
destroyed.  And  the  most  ridiculous  thing 
in  the  whole  proceeding  is  that  the  goose 
cavalryman  must  fume  and  fret  under  the 
thought  that  the  exasperating  birds  under- 
stand him  perfectly.  They  feed  and  gabble 
away  serenely,  paying  no  more  serious  heed 
to  him  than  to  any  other  scarecrow,  until 


just  before  he  gallops  up,  or  foolishly  tries  to 
creep  within  range  behind  his  horse,  when 
the  sentinel  gives  the  alarm  and  the  whole 
flock  takes  wing  and  settles  down  comfort- 
ably to  feed  in  another  part  of  the  same 
wheat-field. 

All  this  is  the  more  remarkable  in  view  of 
the  fact  that  this  marvelous  shrewdness  with 
which  Waptonk  evades  the  best  inventions 
of  men,  far  from  being  a  matter  of  instinct, 
is  imparted  to  him  on  the  spot  by  his  wise 
old  leaders.  For  untold  generations  he  has 
been  born  and  bred  in  the  waste  places  of 
the  North,  where  he  sees  no  man  and  where 
his  life  is  singularly  care-free  and  fearless. 
When  he  starts  southward  for  the  first  time, 
full-grown  and  strong  of  wing,  he  knows 
absolutely  nothing  of  the  world  of  men. 
Left  to  himself  and  his  own  instincts  he 
would  speedily  tumble  into  the  first  cunning 
pitfall,  as  his  ancestors  did  when  they  met 
for  the  first  time  the 


195 

InQuesfof 


white  man  and  his  devices.    Then  old  and 

igO 

young    alike    had    little    fear   of   man,  —  as 
QlieSI  Of  ave  jjttle  now  in  their  wild  northern 


home,  —  and  met  him  with  only  the  ordi- 
nary  ^id  creature's  watchfulness;  but  in  a 
few  seasons  they  learned  better,  and  now  the 
chief  concern  of  the  old  birds  on  the  south- 
ern migration  is  to  keep  the  young  well 
away  from  things  that  are  dangerous.  For- 
tunately for  the  young  goose,  his  parents 
always  lead  the  flock  of  which  he  is  a  part; 
and  from  them  and  from  the  old  leaders, 
trained  in  the  school  of  long  experience,  he 
speedily  learns  to  shift  for  himself  and  to 
make  his  own  way  in  a  world  of  wits. 

All  these  and  many  more  things  the  boy 
learned  as  he  followed  Waptonk  with  the 
hunters  ;  but  still  his  chief  question  remained 
unanswered.  From  books  and  baymen  alike, 
from  explorers  and  the  shrewd  pld  pot-hunter 
of  the  Middleboro'  ponds,  he  heard  always 
the  same  story:  how  the  honking  wedge 
might  be  called  down  to  decoys,  and  how 
the  wary  birds  might  be  tolled  or  trapped  or 
outwitted  and  killed;  but  what  Waptonk 


197 

JnQuesfof 


was  as  a  living  creature,  what  thoughts  were 
in  his  head  and  what  feelings  in  his  heart 
when  he  was  far  from  men,  in  his  own  home 
where  he  could  be  himself,  —  that  problem 
nobody  answered.  Something  to  be  killed,  u^y^ 
rather  than  a  living  thing  to  be  known  and  23^ 
understood,  was  what  met  the  boy  at  every 
turn  and  hushed  his  questions.  And  always 
in  the  spring,  when  the  wild  call  of  the  wide 
voyagers  floated  down  from  the  blue  heavens, 
and  the  boy's  eyes  followed  eagerly  the  rush 
of  the  great  living  wedge  sweeping  north- 
ward to  love  and  liberty,  something  new 
and  strange,  yet  familiar  as  the  spring  or 
the  sunrise,  stirred  and  awoke  in  the  boy's 
heart  and  made  him  long  to  follow. 

That  is  no  strange  experience,  I  think. 

Something  stirs  in  the  hearts  of  most  ^_ ^ 

men,  and  sweeps  the  years  away  and  •'".- .-vv; 

makes  them  boys  again,  with  the 

impulse   to   wander   and   to  do 

splendid  things  far  away,  when 

the  first  jubilant  trumpet  clangor 

of  the  wild  goose  comes  down  to 

them  in  the  spring  twilight. 


It  was  no  surprise,  therefore,  but  only  the 
fulfilment  of  many  years  of  quiet  expectancy, 
JlJUUCSi  UI  w|ien  j  crept  out  of  the  low  spruces  away  up 
*  W&pIOJiK.  -n  t]ie  northern  peninsula  of  Newfoundland, 
and  found  the  end  of  my  long  quest.  A  sub- 
dued  chatter  of  wild  voices  had  called  to  me 
softly  above  the  steady  murmur  of  the  river 
as  I  stole  through  the  woods  to  the  salmon 
pool  in  the  early  June  morning.  Following 
the  sounds,  which  seemed  very  near  at  first, 
but  which  faded  away  like  a  will-o'-the-wisp 
when  I  tried  to  find  them,  they  led  me  away 
from  the  river  and  out  of  the  big  woods  to 
where  an  unknown  barren  lay  just  awake 
under  the  sunrise,  greeting  the  intruder  with 
the  silent,  questioning  look  of  the  wilderness. 
And  there,  close  at  hand  in  a  little  flashet, 
was  Waptonk  the  Wild,  waiting  quietly  as 
if  he  had  always  expected  me. 

Still  and  secret  as  my  approach  had  been, 
with  that  curious  unconscious  effort  to  efface 
himself  that  marks  the  going  of  a  man  or 
an  animal  alone  in  the  great  wilderness, 
Waptonk  had  been  watching  me  for  some 
moments  before  I  saw  him.  He  was  resting 


quietly  in  the  middle  of  the  flashet,  a  splen- 
did big  gander,  with  soft  gray  body  that 
almost  lost  its  outlines  against  the  gray  shore, 
and  glossy  black  neck  standing  straight  up 
from  the  water,  and  a  pure  white  cravat 
rising  on  either  side  to  his  cheeks,  like  the 
immaculate  "choker"  of  the  old-fashioned 
New  England  minister.  All  the  wildness 
and  wariness  seemed  to  have  fallen  away 
from  him,  as  a  man  drops  a  useless  garment 
when  he  enters  his  own  home.  He  looked  at 
me  steadily,  quietly,  without  fear ;  with  a  cer- 
tain sense  of  dignity  in  every  strong,  grace- 
ful line  of  his  body,  and  with  an  unmistakable 
sense  of  his  responsibility  in  guarding  that 
which  was  hidden  away  somewhere  on  the 
farther  shore.  My  first  wondering  impression 
was,  Can  this  be  the  same  bird  that  I  have 
followed  so  long  in  vain,  whose  name,  in  the 
expression  "  a  wild-goose  chase,"  is  a  symbol 
for  all  that  is  hopeless  and  inapproachable  ? 
There  he  sat,  quiet,  self-contained,  without  a 
tremor  of  fear  or  curiosity,  and  "with  no  inten- 
tion, so  far  as  my  eyes  could  discover, 
either  to  approach  or  to  fly  away. 


199 

In  Quest  of 


as? 


I  drew  near  quietly  and  sat  down  on  the 
snore>  while  Waptonk  swung  easily  back  and 

f°rth  °n  a  Sh°rt  beat  in  fr°nt  °f  me'    As  the 
ffr    *  /~jj  minutes  passed  and  I  made  no  hostile  sound 

or  movement,  the  short  patrol  increased  its 
swing  till  it  covered  an  irregular  half  circle 
whose  center  was  a  point  on  the  farther  shore ; 
and  I  knew  then  where  I  should  find  his  nest 
and  gray  mate.  Presently  he  began  to  talk, 
—  a  curious  low  gabble.  Out  of  the  grass 
and  moss  on  the  point  rose  a  head  and  long 
dark  neck  to  look  at  me  steadily.  Near  it 
were  low  cheepings  and  whistlings,  where 
the  goslings  had  been  hiding  in  silence  till 
the  danger  passed  by. 

I  rose  at  this,  having  found  his  secret,  and 
made  my  way  round  the  pond,  with  immense 
caution  because  of  the  quaking  bogs  and  bot- 
tomless black  mud  that  lurked  under  my  feet 
at  every  step.  Waptonk  stopped  his  patrol  to 
watch  me  a  moment,  then  followed  closely, 
keeping  just  abreast  of  me  as  I  made  my  slow 
way  along  the  treacherous  shore.  When  I 
doubled  the  end  of  the  little  pond  and  drew 
near  to  where  his  nestlings  were  hidden, 


2OI 


InQuesfof 


Waptonk  turned  to  the  shore  and  hurried  to 
his  mate  ahead  of  me.    A  moment  he  stood 
over  her  reassuringly,  bending  to  intertwine 
his  neck  with  hers  and  to  rub  his  cheek  softly        *     /'M^t-^- 
over  her  wings  with  a  gesture  that  could  mean        ^^r^^^^0' 
only  a  caress.    His  head  bent  lower  still  to         c3^ 
touch  for  an  instant  the  goslings  that  were 
hiding  in  the  moss ;  then  he  left  them  abruptly 
and  rushed  to  where  I  was  standing  watch- 
ing the  amazing  scene,  and  drew  up  defiantly, 
squarely  across  my  path. 

An  involuntary  thrill  of  admiration  ran 
over  me  as  I  looked  down  at  him  standing 
there  so  strong  and  confident,  ready  to  de- 
fend his  own.  "  You  splendid  fellow ;  you 
brave  knight,  if  ever  there  was  one  among 
the  feathered  folk ! "  I  kept  saying  to  myself. 
But  I  wanted  to  test  him  farther,  and  espe- 
cially I  wanted  to  see  all  that  was  hidden 
in  the  gray  moss ;  so  I 
started  forward  again 
cautiously. 

At  the  first  step  a  fr^  , 
lightning  transforma-  \\ 
tion    swept    over 

u 

I 


Waptonk.    Big  as  he  was,  he  ruffled  all  his 


feathers  and  half  spread  his  great  wings  till 
~>^x<~  he  looked  twice  his  own  size,  and  formidable 

enougn  t°  scare  any  prowler.  Another  step ; 
then  his  eyes  flashed,  and  lowering  his  head 
and  black  neck  close  to  the  ground  he  rushed 
straight  at  me,  hissing  like  forty  snakes,  and 
with  a  gasping,  terrifying  cackle  in  his  throat, 
as  if  his  rage  were  choking  him. 

It  was  magnificent,  this  swift  change  from 
quiet  dignity  to  raging  defiance  of  an  enemy 
ten  times  his  size.  The  fierce  hissing  got 
into  my  nerves,  spite  of  myself,  and  made  me 
wonder  if  any  wild  animal,  living  constantly, 
as  animals  do,  on  the  thin  edge  of  flight  and 
panic,  could  stand  up  against  the  terrifying 
sound  for  a  moment.  I  remembered  the  time 
when,  as  a  little  boy,  I  had  been  soundly 
drubbed  and  beaten  out  of  the  barn-yard  by 
an  irate  old  gander,  and  watched  now  the 
great  wings  with  a  lively  memory  of  what 
blows  they  could  deal.  Like  a  man  caught 
in  a  fault,  I  had  absolutely  no  defense;  for 
Waptonk  was  on  his  own  ground,  and  I  had 
no  business  whatever  in  meddling  with  his 


"  He  rushed  straight 
at  me  " 


affairs.  To  throw  myself  upon*  him,  there- 
fore, and  by  brute  force  to  overcome  the 
noble  fellow  defending  his  little  ones,  was  'f*  f  J*L- 
out  of  the  question;  as  plainly  impossible  * 
as  to  rob  a  bird's  nest  or  to  beat  a  child. 
But  suppose  Noel,  my  big  Indian,  should 
chance  that  way  on  his  perpetual  quest  for  T^  •  •*»• 
new  beaver  ground?  I  could  see  the  queer 
squint  in  his  eye  and  the  grin  on  his  wrin- 
kled face  as  he  watched  me  hopping  over 
the  bogs,  with  the  old  gander  nipping  at  my 
heels  and  spanking  me  with  his  broad  wings 
as  he  chased  me  gloriously  out  of  his  baili- 
wick. That  was  too  much,  even  for  the  sake 
of  encouraging  Waptonk  as  he  deserved ;  so 
instead  of  running  away  I  sank  down  quietly 
in  the  moss,  waiting  half  humorously  to  take 
my  medicine  and  fully  expecting  to  get  it 
"good  and  plenty." 

Quite  near  me  he  stopped,  his  head  down 
close  to  the  ground,  his  tongue  bent  up  like 
a  spring  into  the  roof  of  his  mouth,  hissing 
vigorously  and  watching  me  keenly  out  of 
his  bright  eyes  to  see  the  effect  of  his  dem- 
onstration. It  flashed  upon  me  instantly  why 


206 

InQuesfof 


he  bristled  his  feathers  and  raised  his  wings, 
while  he  carried  his  neck  and  head  down 
close  to  the  ground,  like  a  big  snake.  The 
wings,  his  only  weapons,  were  half  raised  for 
a  blow;  but  the  fierce-hissing  yet  harmless 
head  would  surely  hold  the  attention  of  any 
attacking  animal — just  as  an  owl  snaps  his 
beak  to  frighten  you  and  keep  your  eyes 
away  from  his  dangerous  claws  until  he  gets 
them  into  you  unexpectedly.  Any  wild  ani- 
mal, if  he  were  brave  enough  to  attack,  would 
naturally  avoid  the  snakelike  hissing  and  leap 
over  it  for  the  larger  body,  only  to  be  met  by 
a  stinging  blow  in  the  face  from  the  power- 
ful wings.  If  the  delicate  neck  were  carried 
high,  any  animal  would  naturally  leap  for  it, 
and  Waptonk's  fight  would  be  over  almost 
before  he  could  strike  a  blow.  As  it  is,  Wap- 
tonk  carries  his  most  vulnerable  point  as  close 
to  the  ground  as  possible,  as  a  ship  carries 
her  magazine  below  the  water-line,  and  by 
scaring  an  animal  with  his  snakelike  hiss  he 
gets  a  fair  chance  to  use  his  weapons,  and  so 
i  takes  care  of  himself  splen- 
didly against  all  prowlers. 

t'K 


Waptonk  was  evidently  amazed  at  my  quiet. 
Having  expected  either  fight  or  flight,  he  was 
thrown  off  his  balance  and  hardly  knew  how  &*  QUCSf  Of 
to  meet  the  emergency.  I  fancied  I  could  see 
it  all  in  his  eyes  as  he  looked  at  me  steadily. 
A  moment  or  two  he  kept  his  defensive  atti- 
tude,  till  the  hissing  gradually  died  away. 
He  raised  himself  suddenly  and  threshed  his 
great  wings  in  my  face.  I  could  feel  the 
strong  wind  of  them  on  my  cheek  and  meas- 
ure the  nervous  muscular  beat  under  his 
feathers  as  he  tried  their  power.  Then  he 
put  his  head  down  to  the  ground  and  hissed 
again,  daring  me  to  come  on. 

Ten  yards  behind  him  sat  his  mate,  her 
head  raised  out  of  the  grass,  watching  us 
steadily  without  a  sound.  Suddenly  she  ut- 
tered a  low  call  with  a  curious  accent  of 
warning  and  reassurance.  It  was  a  commu- 
nication to  her  champion,  plainly  enough, 
for  he  wavered  slightly  for  the  first  time 
from  his  intense  attitude.  The  next  moment 
she  slipped  out  of  the  grass  into  the  pond, 
and  after  her  came  five  goslings,  alert  little 
bundles  of  yellow-brown  fuzz,  that  walked 


steadily  across  the  shore,  with  a  funny  effect 
of  carrying  their  knees  up  close  to  their 
iDyfieSrOf  shoulders,  and  glided  easily  into  the  friendly 
waters.  There  was  another  low  call  from 
the  gray  mate;  then  Waptonk,  though  he 
had  not  turned  his  head  nor  taken  his  keen 
eyes  for  an  instant  from  my  face,  turned 
swiftly  aside  and  threw  himself  into  the 
water.  A  push  or  two  from  his  powerful 
webs,  and  he  was  floating  safely  far  beyond 
my  reach,  still  looking  back  at  me  alertly 
over  his  shoulder  as  he  surged  away. 

The  little  family  glided  swiftly  along  the 
pond  shore,   the  mother  leading  them  and 
talking  to  them  reassuringly.    Between  them 
and   me  hovered   Waptonk,  swinging  back 
and  forth  on  his  watchful  patrol,  till  they 
disappeared    from    sight;    then    he    glided 
silently   after   them    into    a   muddy   lagoon 
where  the  treacherous  bogs  for- 
any  human 
to  follow. 


bade 


An  hour  later  the  little  wild  family  stole 
shyly  out  of  the  haven  where  they  had  hid- 
den,  and  found  me  sitting  quietly  just  where  ^ 
I  had  first  appeared.  If  they  were  surprised 
or  uneasy,  they  gave  no  sign  of  their  feelings 
beyond  a  bright,  inquisitive  look,  but  swam 
slowly  past  me  and  climbed  the  bank  where 
it  was  worn  hard  by  their  feet,  and  started 
across  the  barren  on  their  day's  foraging. 
For  hours  I  followed  them,  keeping  out  of 
sight  as  much  as  possible,  watching  with 
keenest  interest  their  feeding  and  discipline, 
and  noting  especially  the  crude  beginnings 
of  that  wedge  formation  with  which  they 
would  later  make  their  first  long  flight  south- 
ward ahead  of  the  autumn  gales. 

Wherever  they  went,  Waptonk,  the  big 
gander,  was  near  them,  hovering  on  the  out- 
skirts, or  watching  over  them  keenly  from 
every  little  hillock  that  commanded  a  wider 
view  of  the  great  barren.  He  ate  but  little, 
and  apparently  only  incidentally.  His  whole 
business  seemed  to  be  to  guard  his  little  flock 
while  the  mother  led  them  about  to  feed,  or 
trained  them  to  the  perfect  discipline  that 


is  the  wonder .  of  all  those  who  have  ever 

2  IO 

watched  wild  geese.  And  when  at  midday 
^e  feeding  was  done,  and  the  goslings  were 
sunning  themselves  on  the  bank  of  another 
flashet  under  the  mother's  eye,  Waptonk  took 
wing  and  bore  away  swiftly  over  the  woods 
and  marshes  to  the  ocean ;  as  if  in  his  cramped 
life  he  wranted  room  and  exercise,  or  perhaps 
just  a  glimpse  of  the  wide  sea,  which  he 
loved,  as  all  others  do  who  have  once  felt 
the  spell  of  its  boundless  mystery.  For  within 
the  hour  he  was  back  again,  as  usual,  stand- 
ing guard  over  his  own. 

Later,  as  I  returned  day  after  day  to  watch 
the  gray  voyagers  that  had  so  long  attracted 
me,  I  saw  a  rare  bit  of  Waptonk's  care  and 
sagacity.  One  of  the  goslings,  more  head- 
strong than  the  others,  in  wandering  away 
from  the  leader  over  a  treacherous  bit  of 
bog-land  found  himself  stogged  in  some  soft 
mud  that  he  attempted  to  cross  too  hurriedly 
and  carelessly.  He  floundered  desperately 
for  a  moment,  called  sharply,  and  then  lay 
perfectly  quiet  with  wings  extended  on  the 
mud  to  keep  himself  from  sinking  deeper. 


Instantly    the    mother   bird   called   all    the 

young  close  about  her,  raised  her  neck  high 

to  look  over  them  at  her  helpless  gosling,    ^JQ^^fr!^f__ 

then  turned  her  head  and  honked  deeply  to 

the  gander.    Waptonk  had  already  seen  the 

danger  from  his  point  of  vantage  and  rose 

heavily  in  the  air.    Circling  once  with  bent 

head  over  the  little  fellow  in  the  mud,  as  if 

to  understand  the  situation,  he  turned  and 

flapped  over  him,  reaching  down  to  seize  a 

wing   in   his   bill.     So,   with   the  youngster 

kicking    vigorously    and    flapping   his    free 

wing  to  help  himself,  he  half  dragged  and 

half  carried  his  careless  offspring  over  the 

mud,  and  hiked  him  out  upon  the  moss  with 

a  final  unnecessary  jerk  that  seemed  to  tell 

him  roughly  to  take  better  care  of  himself 

another  time.    But  he  lowered  his  head  to 

rub  his  cheek  softly  down  the  little  fellow's 

neck  and  over  his  wings,  again  and  again, 

before  he  walked  quietly  away  to  his  post  as 

if   nothing  whatever  \ 

had  happened. 

Then  came  the  final 
scene,  which  made  me 


tingle  in  my  hiding,  increasing  the  strong 
desire  that  rarely  leaves  me  to  understand 
QUeSf  Of  what  passes  -m  t]ie  heads  and  hearts  of  the 


Wood  Folk>  The  mother  went  to  the  care- 
less  Qne  and  brought  him  back  to  where  the 
^^-Jx*^  flock  were  waiting.  Then  standing  in  the 
midst  of  her  brood  she  seemed  to  be  talk- 
ing to  them,  first  in  a  low  chatter,  then  in  a 
strange  silent  communication,  in  which  not 
a  muscle  moved,  but  in  which  every  neck 
was  raised  in  the  attitude  of  tense  attention. 
A  moment  later  the  flock  was  moving  across 
the  barren,  cheeping,  whistling,  feeding  as 
before. 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  as  I  watched  by  the 
home  flashet,  there  was  another  scene  alto- 
gether different  ;  and  here  were  many  things 
that  a  man  could  not  be  expected  to  under- 
stand, though  I  saw  and  admired  them  often 
enough.  As  the  sun  sank  and  the  pointed 
shadows  of  the  spruces  came  creeping  out 
across  the  barren,  the  little  flock  came  wan- 
dering back,  as  is  the  custom  with  wild  geese, 
to  spend  the  night  by  the  nest  where  they 
were  born,  and  to  sleep  contentedly  under 


213 


their  mother's  wings,  while  the  old  gander 
kept  watch  and  ward  in  the  darkness.  For 
Waptonk  is  more  of  a  land  bird  than  any  of  £j®^?,j£_ 

the  ducks.  The  forward  set  of  his  legs  shows 
that  Nature  intended  him  to  walk  as  well  as 
swim ;  and  he  will  never  sleep  in  the  water  if 
he  can  find  a  safe  and  quiet  spot  to  rest  on 
the  shore. 

At  sight  of  the  familiar  place  the  little 
family  that  I  had  watched  all  day  long  sud- 
denly stopped  their  hungry  wandering  and 
came  running  in  a  close  group,  heads  all  up 
and  whistling,  to  tumble  down  the  slope  and 
throw  themselves  with  glad  splashes  into  the 
friendly  water,  which  was  all  aglow  now  with 
the  splendors  of  the  sunset.  There  they  drank 
and  washed  themselves,  and  played  together 

in   little   races   and   scuffles,   and   , - 

stopped  their  play  to  stretch  their  cv;^3-S 
necks  down  to  the  oozy  bottom   ;^V^:-i--f vr 
for  roots  that  they  had  overlooked, 
or  for  earth  and  peb- 
bles to  aid  their  diges- 
tion.    Then  as  the 
shadows  lengthened 


they  glided  to  an  open  spot  on  the  bank  to 
preen  and  gabble  softly ;  while  the  big  parent 
/^  ftf^CST  Of  birds,  their  own  preening  finished  as  they 
watched  the  play  of  their  little  ones,  went 
from  one  to  another,  rubbing  them  tenderly 
with  their  white  cheeks,  chattering  over  each 
one  in  turn,  and  in  twenty  little  indescribable 
ways  showing  their  fondness  —  their  gladness 
also  that  the  long  good  day  was  done  and 
they  were  safe  at  home  once  more. 

Perhaps   this    was    all   imagination ;    but, 
even  so,  a  man  must  look  in  his  heart,  not 
in  the  psychologies  or  natural  histories,  if 
he  would  understand  half  of  what  the  Wood 
Folk  are  doing.    Here  before  my  eyes  was 
a  little  family  that  had  come  back  in  the 
sunset,  after  much  wandering  and  some  dan- 
ger, to  the  one  spot  in  the  great  wilderness 
that  they  knew  well,  where  life   began  for 
the  goslings,  and  where  each  familiar  thing 
seemed  to  welcome  them  and  make  them 
feel  at  home.    Over  them 
stood  the  parents, 
strong  and   watchful 
against  the  world,  but 


bending   their  necks   tenderly  to  tell   their 
little  ones  by  the  soft  caress  of  their  cheeks 


that   they   loved  and  understood   them.    A 

low,   contented    gabble    filled    the    twilight 

stillness,  unintelligible   perhaps,  yet   telling 

plainly  by  its  changing  accents  the  goslings'  v 

changing  feelings  from  the  day's  bright  ex-    Y^—  -<»- 

citement   to   the   evening's    sleepy   content, 

and  recalling  to  me  in  a  sudden  wave  of  ten- 

derness the  chatter  of  a  little  child  far  away 

in  the  same  twilight,  who  could  speak  no 

words  as   yet,  but  whose    feelings   I   could 

understand  perfectly  as  she  talked  back  to 

the  friendly  universe  and  then  crooned  her- 

self and  her  dolly  to  sleep,  alone  in  her  o\vn 

little  crib.    A  great  tide  of  light  rolled  sud- 

denly over  the  plain  from  the  west  as  the 

clouds  lifted,  bathing  all   things   in  a  rosy 

splendor,  and  the  young  birds  stopped  their 

chatter  to  turn  their  heads  and  watch  silently 

for  a  moment  as  the  glory  swept  over  them  ; 

and  the  voices  were  different,  more  hushed 

and  sleepy,  yet  with  a  slight  note  of  wonder, 

like  birds  wakened  by  a  light,  when  I  heard 

them  again.    In  the  nearest  thickets  a  choir 


In  Quest  of 


,     of  thrushes  were  ringing  the  Angelus ;  nearer 
a  solitary  vesper-sparrow,  hidden  in  the  gray 
moss,  was    singing  his  hymn   to  the   even- 
ing ;  an  unknown  call  floated  down  from  the 
distant  hills;  a  fox  barked  in  answer;  while 
the  river  hushed  its  roar  as  the   night  fell 
and  went  singing  down  on  its  way  to  the 
sea.    And  to  all  these  sounds,  and  to  every 
wave  of  light  and  passing  shadow  and  rest- 
less wing  of  the  eddying  plovers, 
the  young  birds  responded  instantly 
with  low  cheeps  and  whistles,  draw- 
ing nearer  and  nearer  together  to 
feel  a  last  touch  of  their  parents' 
white  cheeks ;    while  I  lay 
and  watched   them,  myself 
drifting  away  into  that  deli- 
cious   border-land    of 
feeling  and  sense- 
impression   in   which 
the  young  birds  live 
so  constantly,  where  all  conscious 
thought  vanishes  and  one  becomes 
*  alive  in  every  nerve  and  finger-tip 
?>  to  the  sights  and  sounds  and  subtle 


harmonies  of  the  world.  For  Nature  reveals 
not  only  herself,  but  some  beautiful  and  for- 
gotten part  of  a  man's  own  soul,  when  she 
finds  him  responsive  in  the  wilderness. 

Slowly  the  glory  deepened  and  faded,  and 
the  crimson  flush  that  had  spread  wide  over  ^-^ 
the  great  barren  came  creeping  back  into  the  ^  «g '**' 
west  out  of  which  it  had  come.  After  it 
came  the  silence,  hushing  the  goslings'  chat- 
ter and  the  birds'  hymn ;  and  only  the  river 
was  left  singing  to  itself  through  the  listen- 
ing woods.  Over  the  vast  plain  came  again 
the  sea-wind  swinging  its  fragrant  censer, 
from  which  fell  now  only  heavy  and  drowsy 
odors ;  and  the  fleecy  mists  that  I  had  seen 
rise  at  dawn  settled  softly  again  to  cover  the 
sleeping  earth  like  a  garment.  I  could  no 
longer  see  the  birds  that  I  had  followed  all 
the  long,  sunny  day;  but  where  the  little 
family  stood  a  soft  gray  shadow  blurred  the 
open  shore ;  and  from  it  came  now  and  then 
a  sleepy,  inquisitive  peep  as  some  little  one 
stirred  uneasily,  and  then  a  deep,  quiet  an- 
swer to  tell  him  that  all  was  well,  and  that 
he  was  not  alone  in  the  darkness. 


In  Quest  of 


g  That  was  my  first  real  meeting  with  Wap- 
tonk,  my  first  answer  to  the  question  which 
had  always  been  in  my  heart,  and  which 
neither  the  books  nor  the  hunters  could 
answer,  as  to  what  he  was  like  in  his  own 
land,  where  the  guns  and  decoys  of  men 
might  not  enter.  And  I  was  satisfied,  per- 
fectly satisfied,  as  I  turned  away  in  the 
twilight  across  the  wild  barren  to  where 
my  little  tent  by  the  salmon 
river  was  waiting. 

&i&t&l 

0 


2I9 


PEQUAM  the  fisher,  the  Cunning  One 
as  Simmo  calls  him,  who  follows  your  JL. 
snow-shoe  track  but  never  crosses  it,  is  one  '- 
of  the  shadows  of  the  big  woods.  A  dark 
shadow  indeed  to  the  Wood  Folk,  for  wher- 
ever he  goes  death  follows  close  behind  him ; 
and  a  shadow  to  your  eyes  also,  for  when  you 
do  see  him,  unexpectedly,  after  much  watch- 
ing and  patience,  he  darts  up  the  hillside, 
leaping  and  dodging,  vanishing  and  appearing 
and  vanishing  again,  like  one  of  the  shadows 
that  the  sunbeams  are  chasing  when  a  brisk 
wind  drives  the  clouds  away  and  the  woods 
are  filled  with  rustlings  and  uncertainties. 


222 

JPeguam 


Why  is  he  called  the  fisher  ?  That  is  one 
of  the  mysteries.  Ask  the  half-breeds  of  the 
great  Barren  Grounds,  and  they  may  tell 
you,  perhaps,  that  he  is  called  fisher  because 
he  is  a  most  industrious  thief  in  stealing 
the  fish  with  which  they  bait  their  traps, 
in  angling  them  out  of  the  cunning  de- 
vices without  getting  his  own  paw  caught 
or  bringing  the  heavy  deadfall  down  on  his 
own  back.  The  name  Weejack,  however, 
which  still  clings  to  him  there,  has  no  thought 
of  fish  or  fishing  in  it,  but  suggests  rather 
the  elves  and  goblins,  the  cunning  and  mis- 
chievous Little  Folk,  that  are  supposed  to 
haunt  the  solitudes  and  play  havoc  with  the 
trapper's  saple  line. 

The  earlier  naturalists,  catching  rare 
glimpses  of  Pequam  and  trusting  to  their 
own  knowledge  rather  than  to  the  Indians' 
better  understanding,  probably  called  him 
fisher  because  they  confused  him  with  Kee- 
onekh  the  otter,  whom  he  slightly  resembles 
and  who  is  a  famous  fisherman.  Like  all 
weasels  —  and  next  to  Carcajou  the  wolver- 
he is  greatest  and  fiercest  of  his  tribe  — 


he  likes  fish;  but  I  have  never  known  him  to 
catch  one  unaided  save  once;  and  then  he 
leaped  into  a  shallow  pool  among  the  rocks, 
where  the  receding  waters  had  left  a  big 
salmon  half  stranded,  and  darted  about  like 
a  fury  in  a  blinding  smother  of  water  till 
he  gripped  his  slippery  prize  securely  and 
dragged  him  away  into  the  shadows. 

Pequam  has  other  names.  Black  Fox  he 
is  called  in  places  where  he  is  but  rarely 
seen,  though  he  bears  no  relation  to  the 
black  or  silver  fox,  and  Pennant's  Marten  by 
the  bookish  people,  and  Black  Cat  by  all  the 
Maine  trappers,  who  follow  him  on  the  spring 
snows  when  he  is  gorged  with  food,  and 
who  catch  him  cunningly  at  last  asleep  in 
a  hollow  log  —  and  that  is  the  only  way  I 
have  ever  tried  in  which  I  have  really  caught 
a  weasel  asleep.  But  whatever  his  name, 
Pequam  has  the  same  nature  wherever  I 
have  found  or  heard  of  him ;  whether  on  the 
high  mountain  ranges,  or  the  bleak  Labra- 
dor barrens,  or  the  silent  shadow-filled  north- 
ern woods,  —  a  crafty,  restless,  bloodthirsty 
haunter  of  every  trail,  even  of  your  own;  at 


once   shy    and    daring,    springing   in    tense 
alarm  at  the  slightest  unknown  squeak  or 


or  rustle,  yet  with  a  screeching  ferocity 
at  times,  when  you  corner  him,  that  makes 
your  spine  tingle. 

Because  he  is  little  known,  even  to  the 
naturalists,  let  me  describe  him  just  as  you 
meet  him  at  home  in  the  woods.  If  you  see 
him  at  all,  which  is  not  likely  unless  you 
follow  him  for  miles  on  the  snow  and  find 
his  kill  and  then  track  him  to  his  den,  you 
will  be  conscious  chiefly  of  a  black  streak 
drawn  swiftly  up  the  hillside  and  vanishing 
over  the  top  of  a  rock  or  a  mossy  log.  If 
you  get  any  idea  of  the  creature  at  all,  it 
will  be  something  like  that  of  an  enormous 
black  cat  with  a  terrier  in  swift  pursuit.  If 
he  but  stand  for  an  instant  to  see  what 
frightened  him  and  give  you  one  of  the 
rarest  sights  in  the  woods,  you  will  see  an 
exceedingly  nervous  animal,  suggesting  at 
once  a  cat  and  a  huge  weasel.  He  is  much 
larger  than  a  house  cat,  with  short  legs  and 
a  pointed  face,  like  a  marten's,  and  glossy 
black  fur.  That  is  as  far  as  you  will  ever 


•^-2 


get  in  your  description;  except  perhaps  the 
tail,  which,  you  see,  is  long  and  soft  and 
glossy  as  he  vanishes  over  the  log.  And, 
like  a  scared  cat,  he  fluffs  it  out  like  a 
bottle-brush  to  make  it  look  big  and  to 
scare  you  should  you  attempt  to  follow  him. 
Two  or  three  times  in  the  woods  I  have 
had  just  such  glimpses  of  Pequam  as  I  have 
described ;  but,  except  in  hunting  on  the 
snow,  only  once  have  I  seen  him  plainly 
when  he  had  no  idea  I  was  watching  him. 
I  was  sitting  quietly  in  the  woods  at  day- 
break, watching  for  deer  and  moose  on 
Matagammon,  when  there  was  a  rustle 
behind  me  and  Moktaques  went  hopping 
by  in  the  crazy,  erratic  way  that  hares 
have  when  hunted.  "  Kagax  is  after  him,"  I 
thought,  and  turned  to  watch  for  the  weasel, 
at  the  same  time  picking  up  a  stick  to 
stop  the  bloodthirsty  little  wretch's  hunting. 
Then  out  of  the  underbrush  darted  Pequam, 
his  muzzle  twitching,  tail  quivering,  —  dart- 
ing, leaping,  dodging,  halting,  all  on  fire  with 
excitement.  Every  hair  on  his  body  seemed 
to  be  alive  and  filled  with  nerves;  and  I 


thought  instantly  of  a  young  fisher  that  I 
used  to  watch  for  hours  at  a  time  in  his 
cage.  Whether  sleeping  or  waking,  on  the 
ground  or  in  his  tree,  he  seemed  to  have 
eyes,  ears,  and  senses  all  over  him.  A 
squeak,  a  chirp,  a  scratch,  —  the  slightest 
sound,  and  instantly  he  leaped  from  what 
he  was  doing  and  twisted  his  head  and 
whirled  and  leaped  again.  Once  when  he 
was  apparently  sound  asleep  I  brought  my 
thumb  and  finger  nails  together  and  snapped 
the  edges.  A  sound  so  faint  would  hardly 
trouble  the  dreams  of  even  a  sleeping  wolf; 
but  on  the  instant  Pequam  had  leaped  to 
his  feet  wide-awake  and  was  wrinkling  his 
nose  in  my  direction. 

Just  this  same  impression  of  intense  vital- 
ity and  alertness  swept  over  me  now  as  the 
wild  creature  passed  before  me,  fairly  quiver- 
ing from  nose  to  tail  tip.  Not  ten  feet  from 
my  hand,  where  the  hare  had  made  a  wild 
jump,  he  stopped  for  an  instant,  twisted  his 
head  in  a  half  circle  to  catch  the  scent, 
darted  forward,  ran  back  again  with  his  nose 
to  the  ground ;  and  then,  finding  he  was  off 


"  He  had  picked  up  the  trail 
and  darted  away  ' ' 


scent  and  running  a  back  track,  instead  of 
turning,  as  any  other  animal  would  have 
done,  he  simply  leaped,  whirled  in  the  air 
like  a  flash,  and  came  down  in  his  tracks 
facing  in  the  opposite  direction.  It  was  the 
quickest,  the  most  intense  action  I  have 
ever  seen  in  a  living  animal ;  and  yet  it  was 
probably  just  an  ordinary  movement  in  Pe- 
quam's  daily  life.  An  instant  later  he  had 
picked  up  the  trail  and  darted  away,  abso- 
lutely unconscious  that  I  had  watched  him. 
As  a  hunter  Pequam  has  no  equal  among 
the  Wood  Folk.  He  follows  a  trail  with  all 
the  persistency  of  a  weasel,  and  he  darts  for- 
ward with  marvelous  quickness  when  his 
nose  has  brought  him  within  striking  dis- 
tance of  his  game.  Of  a  score  of  fisher  trails 
that  I  have  followed  in  the  winter  woods, 
never  a  one  but  brought  me  sooner  or  later 
to  the  scene  of  his  killing,  with  its  record 
written  as  plainly  as  if  the  eye  had  seen  it 
all.  You  may  follow  the  track  of  Eleemos 
the  fox,  the  Sly  One  as  Simmo  calls  him,  for 
days  at  a  time,  and  find  only  that  he  has 
caught  nothing  and  has  lain  down  to  sleep 


far  more  hungry  than  you  are  yourself.  Or 
you  may  trace  the  round,  deep  pugs  of  Up- 
weekis  the  lynx  for  uncounted  miles  through 
the  bare>  Wi1ite)  empty  woods,  and  get  at  last 
a  kind  of  sympathy  for  the  big,  savage,  stu- 
pid fellow  as  you  think  how  ravenous  he 
must  be;  for  the  tracks  lead  to  nothing  but 
disappointments,  at  the  beaver  house,  at  the 
rabbit's  form,  beside  the  deer  yard,  and  at 
the  hole  in  the  snow  where  the  grouse 
plunged  for  the  night.  But  follow  Pequam 
a  little  way  and  you  come  speedily  to  the 
story  of  good  hunting:  here  a  mouse,  and 
there  a  hare,  and  there  a  squirrel,  and  there 
a  deer.  Careful,  now!  He  is  gorged  and 
sleepy ;  and  you  will  find  him,  not  far  away, 
asleep  in  a  hollow  tree  under  the  snow. 

Spite  of  his  size  Pequam  climbs  and  moves 
among  the  big  trees  with  all  the  sureness 
and  agility  of  a  squirrel,  traveling  long  dis- 
tances overhead,  and  even  following  his 
game  by  leaping  from  branch  to  branch. 
Like  the  squirrel  he  can  jump  down  from 
an  enormous  height,  flattening  his  body  and 
tail  against  the  air  so  as  to  break  his  fall, 


striking  the  ground  lightly  and  darting  away 
as  if  he  enjoyed  the  dizzy  plunge.  And,  like 
the  larger  cats,  he  sometimes  creeps  over  his 
game  on  a  lofty  limb  and  leaps  down  upon 
it  like  a  thunderbolt;  though,  unlike  Pe- 
kompf  the  wildcat  and  Lhoks  the  panther, 
I  have  never  known  him  to  watch  in  a  tree 
over  the  runways.  His  nose  is  too  good 
and  his  patience  too  poor  to  lead  him  to 
these  pot-hunting  and  abominable  methods. 
It  is  in  following  Pequam's  trail  through 
the  snow  that  you  learn,  as  you  do  with 
most  large  animals,  the  story  of  his  life.  For 
the  northern  forests,  in  winter  especially, 
seem  but  bare  and  tenantless  places.  Far  in 
the  South  life  seems  to  be  the  order  of  the 
universe:  earth,  air,  and  water  swarm  at  all 
times  with  a  multitude  of  creatures.  Here 
all  is  different.  Silence  and  death  seem 
to  have  gripped  the  world  and  emptied  it. 
From  early  morning,  when  the  intense  cold 
silences  all  things,  to  the  short  midday,  when 
the  feeble  sun  brings  forth  a  jay's  cry  or  a 
squirrel's  disturbing  chatter,  and  on  to  the 
early  twilight,  when  the  trees  groan  again 


ffie&Zsfier 


232 

JPeguam 
ffie^F/sfier 


and  crack  like  pistols  as  the  frost  snaps  the 
tightening  bark,  you  glide  along  silently  and 
alone  on  your  snow-shoes;  and  save  for  the 
crossbills  and  chickadees  and  the  rolling  tat- 
too of  the  log-cock  you  seem  utterly  alone  in 
the  universe.  No  broad  wing  or  gloss  of  fur 
or  gray  shadow  of  a  deer  disturbs  the  sharp 
outlines  of  the  still  tree  bolls  on  every  hand. 
Your  own  breath,  as  it  drifts  away  in  a  cloud 
of  frost  among  the  trees,  is  the  only  sign  of 
a  living  animal  in  all  the  snowy  landscape. 
Now  look  down  at  your  feet.  You  are 
standing  where  the  dainty  trail  of  a  fox 
crosses  the  broad  lead  of  a  porcupine  and 
follows  it  a  little  way  doubtfully.  Eleemos 
is  uncertain,  you  see,  whether  to  turn  aside 
or  go  on ;  debating  with  his  shrunken  stom- 
ach whether  or  not  he  is  hungry  enough  to 
risk  being  struck  through  with  cruel  barbs 
for  a  coarse  mouthful ;  undecided  whether  to 
follow  Unk  Wunk  and  perhaps  find  him  safe 
in  a  tree,  or  trust  again  to  luck  and 
patience  for  a  sweeter  mouthful  to 
stand  between  a  poor  fox  and  death. 
There !  he  follows  the 


trail ;  and  by  that  you  may  know  he  is  more 
than  hungry. 

Life  is  here,  you  see;  though  it  is  now 
hidden  away  where  it  takes  more  than  eyes 
to  find  it.  Tracks  are  everywhere,  all  kinds 
of  tracks,  telling  their  stories  of  last  night's 
wanderings,  from  the  dainty  tracery  of  the 
wood-mice  to  the  half-filled  path  that  leads 
you  to  the  moose-yard  on  the  other  side  of 
the  great  ridge.  Follow  any  of  them  and 
you  find  life,  or  the  plain  record  of  life,  that 
goes  swiftly  and  silently  to  its  chief  end 
and  concerns  itself  diligently  about  its  own 
business.  There,  a  little  farther  on,  are  your 
own  snow-shoe  slots  of  yesterday.  And  see, 
close  beside  them,  following  every  turn  and 
winding  of  your  trail  but  never  crossing  it, 
are  the  cunning  tracks  of  Pequam  the  fisher. 
Clear  to  your  camp  in  a  five-mile  circle  he 
followed  your  trail,  and  even  now,  behind 
you,  he  may  be  sniffing  again  at  the  new, 
strange  tracks  that  rouse  his  curiosity. 

Once,  feeling  that  I  was  followed,  I  stole 
back  cautiously  and  caught  him  hanging  to 
my  heels  like  a  shadow ;  but  why  he  follows 


234 


ffie&Isfier 


J 


my  trail  I  have  never  been  able  to  find  out. 
It  is  a  good  plan,  in  the  winter  woods,  to 
scatter  food  along  your  trail,  for  it  over- 
comes the  Wood  Folk's  distrust  of  man's 
footprints;  but  long  before  I  found  that  out 
and  practiced  it  Pequam  had  followed  me. 
Perhaps  he  has  followed  the  trappers  so 
long,  to  steal  the  bait  from  their  marten 
traps,  that  it  has  become  a  habit. 

It  was  on  a  morning  like  this,  still  and 
cold  and  lifeless,  that  I  left  the  big  lumber 
camp  on  the  Dungarvon  and  struck  off  east- 
ward for  the  barrens.  I  was  after  caribou; 
but  two  miles  away  in  the  woods  I  ran 
across  old  Newell  the  Indian,  whose  hunt- 
ing camp  was  far  up  the  river,  moving 
swiftly  along,  with  his  eyes  on  a  fresh  trail. 

"  Hello,  brother !  what  you  hunt  um  ? " 
I  hailed  him. 

For  answer  he  pointed  with  a  grunt  to  the 
snow,  where  a  fisher  had  gone  along  that 
morning  as  if  some  one  were  after  him. 

"  Pequam  in  a  hurry  this  morning.  Thinks 
if  Newell  around,  fisher  better  mog  along 
somewhere  else,"  I  ventured;  and  the  grim 


old  face  before  me  softened  at  the  tribute 
to  his  skill  in  hunting. 

"  Oh,  I  get  um,"  he  said,  smiling.  "  Das  de 
fellow  rob  my  saple  traps.  Find  um  where 
he  kill  deer  dis  morny.  Now  he  go  off 
wid  hees  belly  full,  sleepy,  oh,  sleepy.  Find 
um  bimeby,  pretty  soon  quick  now.  You 
wan'  go  along  help  um  ?  "  he  added  invitingly. 

That  was  a  new  kind  of  hunting  for  me; 
so  I  left  the  caribou  gladly  and  followed  the 
old  Indian.  He  had  no  gun;  only  an  ax; 
and  I  was  curious  to  know  how  he  intended 
to  catch  so  spry  and  wary  an  animal  un- 
aided; but  I  asked  no  questions,  following 
silently  and  keeping  out  to  one  side  of  the 
trail,  looking  far  ahead  for  a  glimpse  and  a  ,  f  ^ 
possible  shot  at  Pequam  among  the  trees.  % 
Indeed,  it  was  probably  the  sight  of  my  rifle 
and  a  light  ax  at  my  belt  that  caused  Hi 
Newell  to  issue  his  invitation. 

The  fisher  was  plainly  suspicious  or 
alarmed,  for  he  was  traveling  rapidly,  yet 
with  marvelous  craftiness.  Newell  assured 
me  that  Pequam  had  neither  seen  nor ; 
smelled  him.  Probably  he  had  eaten  ,• 


235 

JPeguam 
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236 

JPeguam 
ffie^/sfier 


full  and  was  now  minded  to  lie  down  for  a 
long  sleep,  and,  like  a  bear  seeking  a  winter 
den  after  the  telltale  snow  has  fallen,  was 
making  a  cunning  trail  to  deceive  and  mis- 
lead any  that  might  try  to  find  him.  This 
was  my  own  explanation  and  good  enough  for 
the  moment;  but  later  Newell  gave  a  very 
different  reason  for  the  crooked  trail  we 
were  following. 

Again  and  again  the  trail  doubled  on 
itself  where  Pequam  came  back  for  a  dis- 
tance, stepping  in  his  own  footprints,  and 
then  leaped  away  in  a  great  side  jump  into 
some  thick  cover  where  his  new  tracks  were 
hidden.  Newell,  who  was  watching  for  such 
things,  generally  saw  the  trick  and  turned 
aside ;  but  more  than  once  he  was  deceived, 
and  we  went  on  to  find  the  trail  ending 
abruptly  with  a  single  footprint  in  the  snow. 
Then  we  would  turn  back  and  hunt  on 
either  side  till  we  picked  up  the  trail  again. 

Twice  the  tracks  ended  at  the  foot  of  a 
great  tree  where  Pequam  had  climbed  and 
ran  among  the  branches  overhead ;  and  then 
we  had  to  circle  widely  to  find  where  he 


had  leaped  down  and  run  on  again.    Once 

he  tunneled  for  a  long  distance  under  the    ^ 

snow;  and  when  we  found  the  trail  it  was     „,      srry  fa* 

far  out  to  one  side  and  running  at  right 
angles  to  his  former  course.  So  we  followed 
him,  mile  after  mile,  and  I  had  long  given 
up  the  thought  of  shooting  in  the  fascina- 
tion of  working  out  the  riddle  which  Pequam 
had  spread  for  us,  when  Newell,  who  had 
been  growing  more  and  more  cautious  for 
the  past  ten  minutes,  stopped  suddenly  and 
pointed  ahead.  And  when  I  glided  up  to 
him  there  was  no  sign  of  a  den  or  a  hidden 
log,  but  only  a  little  hollow  half  filled  with 
a  flurry  of  snow  where  the  trail  disappeared, 
as  if  Pequam  had  suddenly  taken  wings  to 
himself  and  flown  away. 

"  Where  is  he  ? "  I  whispered. 

"  Oh,  we  got  um  now,  good  place,"  chuckled 
Newell.  "  Pequam  tink  he  fool  um  ol'  Injun ; 
hide  hees  footin'.  Now  he  tink  safe,  go  sleep. 
Guess  he  fool  self  dis  time —  By  cosh  !  oh,  by 
cosh ! " 

From  a  great  hole  in  the  top  of  a  fallen 
log,  fifty  feet  away,  a  black  streak  shot  out 


and  vanished  in  a  flurry  of  snow.  Pequam, 
instead  of  going  in  at  this  hole,  had  tun- 
neled  out  of  sight  for  ten  or  fifteen  feet 

and  had  gone  -n  at  the  Opposite  end  Of  the 

log,  which  was  hidden  by  the  deep  snow 
and  bending  evergreens.  A  cunning  trick; 
for  any  one  approaching  the  half-buried  log 
wrould  see  the  inviting  hole  at  the  top  but 
find  no  track  leading  up  to  it,  and  so  would 
conclude  naturally  that  the  den  was  unoccu- 
pied. Had  we  been  an  hour  later  we  wrould 
have  found  him  heavy  with  sleep  in  the  log ; 
but  we  had  followed  too  hot  on  his  trail.  He 
had  barely  settled  himself  down  in  his  warm 
den  under  the  snow  when  our  approach 
startled  him  and  he  was  off  on  another 
crooked  trail. 

We  stopped  where  we  were  to  "bile  kit- 
tle"; for  the  cold  of  the  northern  forests  is 
killing  in  its  intensity,  and  the  moment  you 
cease  action  that  moment  Nature  clamors 
for  fire  and  food  with  an  insistence  never 
known  elsewhere.  Late  in  the  afternoon, 
after  following  the  fresh  trail  through  all  its 
doublings  and  windings,  we  came  to  where 


it  leaped  aside  without  warning  into  a  dense 
thicket  of  low  firs.     There  it  ended,  as  if  the    ^ 
ground  had  opened  to  swallow  Pequam ;  but  *V    *~ 
just  beyond  a  long  mound  showed  where  a 
fallen  log  lay  buried  under  the  snow,  and  we 
knew  we  should  find  him  there  fast  asleep. 

Unslipping  the  light  ax,  I  moved  cau- 
tiously to  the  smaller  end  of  the  log,  while 
Newell  crouched  at  the  butt  and  began  to 
shovel  aside  the  snow  with  a  snow-shoe.  My 
end  of  the  log  was  solid ;  in  the  whole  shell 
after  I  had  laid  it  bare  of  snow  I  found  only 
a  .single  hole,  and  that  hardly  big  enough 
to  admit  a  squirrel.  Meanwhile  Newell  had 
pushed  a  pole  into  the  hollow  butt  till  it 
was  seized  savagely  and  almost  jerked  out 
of  his  hand.  A  fierce  snarl  and  a  muf- 
fled scratching  told  us  plainly  that  we  had 
reached  at  last  the  end  of  the  trail. 

Very  deliberately  the    old    Indian  cut   a 
dozen  more  poles,  while  I  stood  guard,  and 
wedged  them  tightly  in  the  hoi-    <..>:";,«*" 
low  butt.    Next  he  enlarged  the    ip  *>$ 
squirrel  hole,  and  I  had  a  glimpse 
of  glossy  fur  as   Pequam  rushed 


back  toward  the  place  where  he  had  entered, 
240 

only  to  find  it  shut  securely.    The  squirrel 

hole  was  then  closed  by  stakes  driven  through 
to  the  rotten  wooc}  beneath,  and  Pequam 
was  caught,  with  only  some  six  feet  of  hol- 
low shell  to  rage  around  in. 

I  confess  I  would  gladly  enough  have 
stopped  here;  for  the  sight  of  any  trapped 
animal,  however  fierce,  that  has  known  all 
its  life  only  absolute  liberty,  always  awakens 
in  me  the  desire  to  break  its  bars  and  set  it 
free  again.  But  Newell  had  no  such  scruples. 
Here  was  a  prime  fur  worth  eight  dollars,  to 
say  nothing  of  plundered  marten  traps.  The 
fire  that  sleeps  in  an  Indian's  eyes  and  that 
always  kindles  at  the  sight  of  game  began  to 
flash  as  he  chopped  a  long  notch  through 
the  top  of  the  shell,  driving  in  stakes  as 
he  advanced,  and  slowly  but  surely  pinning 
Pequam  into  a  space  where  a  blow  of  the 
ax  would  finish  it  all. 

Through  the  narrow  slit  I  could  see  him, 
the  flash  of  his  eye  and  the  white  gleam  of 
his  teeth  under  his  brown  muzzle  as  he  tried 
the  opening,  and  then  the  sweep  of  his  bushy 


tail  as  the  ax  drove  him  aside.  Again  and 
again  he  whirled  on  us  savagely ;  for,  unlike 
the  fox  and  bear  that  know  when  you  have 
won  and  that  lie  down  quietly  for  the  blow, 
Pequam  fights  and  defies  you  to  the  very 
end.  Game  killer  and  robber  of  traps  he 
may  be;  but  traps  are  barbarous  things  at 
best,  and  the  animal  that  robs  them  is  only 
saving  some  innocent  life  from  suffering, 
though  he  knows  it  not.  Here  he  was,  the 
shadow  of  the  wroods  become  solid  substance 
at  last,  his  marvelous  cunning  overmatched 
by  man's  intelligence.  Not  a  chance  left  in 
the  tough  shell  that  held  him  fast,  while  the 
steel  bit  nearer  and  nearer  and  the  stakes 
pinned  him  in.  And  there  was  something 
magnificent,  an  appeal  not  to  be  answered 
lightly,  in  the  way  he  clung  to  life,  claimed 
it,  fought  for  it,  and  screeched  out  at  us 
defiantly  that  his  life  was  his  own  and  we 
must  not  take  it  away. 

"  Got  um  safe  now,"  I  ventured  at  last. 

"Safe!"  grunted  the  Indian  between  the 
steady  chucks  of  his  ax,  "by  cosh,  Pequam 
never  safe  till  he  dead;  an'  den  he  fool 


241 


ffie&Tsfier 


242 


// 


me  two,  tree  time  wen  he  only  play  dead. 
Bes'  cock  um  dat  gun;  Pequam  got  plenty 
tricks  he  ant  try  yet."  But  there  was  no  need 
of  the  gun,  and  I  did  not  look  to  see  the  end. 
Before  the  short  twilight  had  fallen  on  the 
woods  we  had  stroked  the  splendid  fur  and 
valued  it,  and  were  heading  swiftly  for  the 
little  hunting  camp  on  the  river  with  Pe- 
quam's  black  coat  hanging  limp  and  soft 
and  warm  between  the  Indian's  shoulders. 


243 


HAT  night,  in  the  queer  little 
hunting  camp  by  the  river,  while 
the  birch  logs  glowed  on  the 
stone  hearth  and  sang  for  the 
last  time  the  songs  which  the  winds  had 
taught  them,  old  Newell  answered  my  ques- 
tions about  the  fisher  we  had  caught,  and 
told  me  of  his  lonely  trapper's  life  and  the 
many  trails  he  had  followed.  Under  his  skill- 
ful hands  as  he  worked,  Pequam's  glossy  skin 
changed  its  face  and  crept  down  to  the  very 
end  of  the  long  cedar  stretcher,  ready  at  last 
to  take  its  place  in  the  row  of  marten  and 
245 


,,  fox  and  otter  pelts  that  hung  outside,  touched 
and  made  fragrant  by  the  wood  smoke,  and 
turning?  turning  for  the  last  breath  of  the 

Cunning  One  forest  wind  that  stole  in  thr0ugh  the  sides 

of  the  little  commoosie. 

What  puzzled  and  interested  me  most 
was  the  Indian's  confident  declaration  that 
Pequam  had  neither  seen  nor  winded  him 
that  morning,  but  had  simply  felt  the  pres- 
ence of  an  enemy  on  his  trail,  and  so  had 
taken  to  doubling  and  traveling  among  the 
branches  in  order  to  throw  him  off  the  track. 

"  Now  I  tell  you  now,"  he  said  earnestly, 
in  answer  to  my  suggestion  that  it  was 
merely  a  precautionary  measure,  such  as  the 
bear  takes  before  denning  for  the  winter, 
"  Pequam,  jus'  same  all  animals,  know  good 
many  ting  widout  knowin'  how  he  know. 
So  long  you  jus'  watch  um  animal,  he  don't 
fraid  't  all.  Don't  see,  don't  hear,  don't 
smell;  ev'thing  jus'  right;  go  on  feedin', 
playin';  feel  good  inside.  Now  you  go  get 
you  gun,  follow  hees  footin'.  Bimeby  he  stop ; 
wag  hees  ears;  sniff,  sniff;  look  all  round 
de  hwoods.  Don't  hear,  don't  see,  don't  smell 


noting;  get  fraid  an'  run  'way  jus'  same. 
Plenty  black  cat  in  dese  hwoods.  You  fol- 
low an'  find  out  for  youself." 

It  was  the  old  question  that  one  runs  up 
against  everywhere  in  the  woods,  in  his  own 
hunting  and  in  the  experience  of  woodsmen, 
the  unknown  sixth  sense,  or  feeling  of  dan- 
ger, which  sometimes  warns  a  creature  be- 
yond the  reach  of  any  known  sense,  and 
which  seems  to  imply  a  kind  of  silent  men- 
tal communication  among  animals.  Several 
times  since  then  I  have  followed  Pequam's 
trail  and  learned  something  about  his  hunt- 
ing, and  in  every  case  have  found  much 
to  justify  the  Indian's  conclusion.  When 
Pequam  kills  a  large  animal  and  gorges 
himself,  he  goes  but  a  mile  or  two  —  often 
much  less  than  that  —  and  hides  him  away 
to  sleep,  making  but  slight  effort  to  confuse  j. 
his  trail.  Follow  it  now  quietly,  and  you  see 
where  it  disappears  in  the  snow ;  and  some- 
where just  beyond  you  will  find 
Pequam  asleep  in  a  hollow  log. 
But  if  you  find  the  fresh  track 
where  he  returns  to  his  kill  and 


247 

IfteTra/fofffie 
Cunning  One 


follow  it  swiftly  before  he  has  settled  down 
to  sleep,  he  begins  doubling  and  tunneling 
TlieTrai/ Of  me  and  traveling  overhead  long  before  it  would 
geem  possible  that  any  sight  or  sound  or 
smell  of  you  could  drift  away  over  the  hills 
to  where  the  Cunning  One  is  hiding  his 
trail  from  the  telltale  snow. 

Once,  while  following  a  fresh  track,  old 
Newell  had  a  curious  experience  of  Pequam's 
cunning;  and  last  summer,  when  I  noticed 
a  fisher's  track  on  the  shore  of  Grassy  Pond, 
under  K'tahdin,  my  guide  told  me  unasked 
of  a  similar  occurrence  which  he  had  him- 
self witnessed  last  spring  when  he  was  trap- 
ping among  the  Sourdnahunk  Mountains. 
Newell  found  where  Pequam  had  killed  a 
deer  on  the  crust,  and  followed  the  trail 
through  the  soft  snow  that  had  fallen  over 
night,  not  half  an  hour  after  the  fisher  had 
left  it.  Mile  after  mile  he  swept  along  on 
his  snow-shoes,  through  the  swamps  and 
over  the  hills,  pushing  the  fisher  hard  and 
unwinding  swiftly  every  turn  and  double 
and  side  jump  and  tunnel  in  the  cunning 
trail.  Pequam  was  heavy  and  tired.  Two  or 


three  times  Newell  saw  him  plainly,  but 
with  his  old  gun,  whose  lock  he  must  protect 
from  the  snow,  he  was  not  quick  enough  for 
a  shot;  and  still  the  game  held  on,  and  at 
every  turn  laid  some  new  snarl  or  puzzle 
for  the  old  Indian's  eyes  to  unravel.  Late  in 
the  afternoon  the  trail  turned  abruptly  from 
the  ridge,  which  it  had  been  following  for 
miles,  and  headed  straight  and  swift  for  a 
cedar  swamp. 

There  were  plenty  of  deer  here.  The 
spring  hunger  had  driven  them  out  of  their 
yards ;  and  in  the  early  morning  or  late 
afternoon,  when  the  crust  hardened  enough 
to  bear  their  weight,  they  could  get  at  the 
cedar  boughs,  which  till  then  had  been  too 
high  to  reach.  So  long  as  they  spread  their 
legs  or  went  softly,  the  crust  would  bear 
them  up ;  but  at  the  first  heavy  plunge  they 
sank  through  to  their  shoulders,  and  wrere 
almost  helpless. 

Half-way  through  the  swamp  the  hunted 
fisher  winded  a  large  deer  and  leaped  straight 
at  him.  The  tracks  showed  that  it  was  not 
his  usual  crafty  hunting,  but  a  straight,  swift 


249 

ZheTrai/offfie 
Cunning  One 


drive,  with  probably  a  savage  snarl  to  add  to 
the  terror  of  his  rush.    At  the  first  startled 

TbeTra/Jofme  bound  Hetokh  the  buck  sank  to  his  withers. 

dozen  more  plunges,  and  he  lay  helpless. 
Pequam  raced  alongside,  leaped  for  his  throat, 
and  gave  the  death  wound.  He  watched  for 
a  moment,  crouching  in  the  snow,  till  the 
buck  lay  still ;  then  he  ran  on  again  without 
stopping  to  eat  or  drink.  Newell,  far  behind, 
puzzling  out  the  trail,  neither  saw  nor  heard 
anything  of  the  swift  tragedy,  but  read  it  all 
from  the  snow  a  half-hour  later. 

Straight  back  to  the  hills  went  Pequam, 
leisurely,  carelessly  now,  and  without  mak- 
ing the  slightest  effort  to  hide  his  trail,  as  he 
had  done  all  day,  crept  into  the  first  good 
hollow  log  and  lay  down  to  sleep.  Newell 
found  him  there  and  wedged  him  in  without 
trouble,  and  took  his  skin  within  sight  of  the 
spot  where  the  deer  lay  stiffening  in  the  snow. 

Now  the  curious  thing  about  the  killing 
is  this,  that  Pequam  was  running  for  his  life, 
with  no  time  to  lose  or  to  throw  away.  He 
had  already  killed  one  deer  and  had  eaten 
more  than  he  wanted,  and,  with  an  enemy 


after  him,  would  disgorge  some  of  what  he 
already   carried    rather   than    take   more   to 


make  him  heavy.    Indeed,  after  a  kill  and 
a  full  meal,  Pequam,  when  no  enemy  is  near, 
usually  lies  quiet  for  days  at  a  time,  drow- 
sing away  in  his  hollow  log.    A  certain  blind 
ferocity  might  perhaps  account  for  his  kill- 
ing  the   deer;   but   that   leaves   his 
subsequent  carelessness  unaccounted 
for.  And  besides,  unlike  their  smaller 
and  more  bloodthirsty  kinsman  the 
weasel,    neither    fisher    nor    marten 
seem  to  kill  for  the  lust  of  killing.    They 
kill  only  when  hungry,  and  usually  go  back 
to  any  large  game  until  it  is  eaten  up  to  the 
very  bones  before  they  hunt  or  kill  again. 

All  this  passed  through  my  mind  rapidly,  V \ 

and  the  Indian,  in  answer  to  my  inquiries, 
confirmed  my  idea  of  the  fisher's  ordinary 
habits.  Then  I  put  the  final  question: 

"Why  on  earth,  then,    did    Pequam    kill  p> 
another  deer  ? " 

"Wy  he  kill  um  dat  tother  deer?    Cause 
he  tink  Injun  hongry,  das  wy  he  kill  um."  • 
And  then,  as  my  eyes  questioned  his  in  the 


firelight,  "  Wy,  you  spose  now,  Pequam  fol- 
low  trail  heself,  jus'  same  I  follow  heem  all 

"*€/&// or  me  day>  huh?  Cause  he  hongry;  cause  he  want 
Cunning  One  meat  Das  wy  black  cat)  das  wy  hwolfj  das 

wy  all  animal  follow  trail  all  day  long  in 
snow.  He  hongry;  he  want  meat.  Bimeby 
—  roof /i !  scritch !  kill  um  deer.  Eat  um 
plenty ;  lie  down  sleep ;  don'  follow  trail  no 
more." 

"  Now  I  -follow  Pequam,"  continued  Newell 
earnestly,  "  jus'  same  he  follow  deer.  Pequam 
hide,  run,  climb  tree,  go  under  snow;  try 
fool  um  Injun.  All  time  Injun  keep  right 
on;  thoo  cedar  swamp,  up  big  hill,  down 
tother  side,  —  ev' where  Pequam  go,  Injun 
follow  hees  footin'.  Bimeby  Pequam  tink: 
'Injun  hongry;  Injun  want  meat;  Injun 
want  eat  um  me.'  Den  he  go  kill  um  deer. 
Tink,  p'raps,  Injun  eat  plenty  meat ;  go  'way; 
don'  follow  hees  trail  no  more." 

Startling  as  was  the  explanation,  there 
was  a  grain  of  reason  in  it,  and  I  give  it 
because  I  have  none  other  to  offer.  Years 
later,  when  I  asked  the  Maine  guide  how  he 
accounted  for  his  fisher's  action,  he  gave 


precisely  the  same  reason,  though  more* 
than  ten  years  and  two  countries  and  many 
hundreds  of  miles  separated  the  two  occur- 
rences.  The  black  cat,  he  said,  must  have 
thought  or  felt  in  his  own  dumb  way  that  by 
killing  a  deer  and  leaving  it  there  untouched 
he  might  satisfy  and  turn  aside  the  enemy 
that  followed  on  his  trail.  In  no  other  way 
could  he  account  for  the  subsequent  care- 
lessness with  which  the  fisher  left  the  game 
untouched  and  lay  down  to  sleep  in  the  first 
good  den.  For  Pequam,  spite  of  his  cun- 
ning, has  room  in  his  head  for  only  one  idea 
at  a  time  ;  and  so  long  as  you  let  him  keep 
that  idea,  you  may  plan  safely  to 
catch  him. 

A  curious  instance  of  this  came 
out  a  few  days  later,  when  I  took 
up   my   abode  with  the 
Indian    and    went    with 
him  to  the  traps,  or  wan- 
dered alone  through  the 
woods   follow- 
ing the  crooked 
trails.     Newell 


254 

TheTtef/offfie 
CunningOne 


had  a  long  line  of  marten  traps  —  saple  line, 
he  called  it  —  following  a  ridge  for  nearly  ten 
miles,  crossing  the  river  and  returning  on  the 

(jown  at  the  jower  en(j  was 

a  rough  log  cabin  where  we  could  find  shelter 
if  overtaken  by  night  or  a  sudden  storm. 

The  traps,  which  were  scattered  at  inter- 
vals along  the  ridges,  were  little  pens  made 
of  stakes  or  slabs  or  stones.  Inside  the  pen 
was  a  bait  of  fish  or  flesh ;  and  over  the  nar- 
row entrance  slanted  a  weighted  log  resting 
on  a  trigger,  so  arranged  that  when  an  ani- 
mal entered  and  seized  the  bait  the  deadfall 
came  down  promptly  and  broke  his  back. 
As  he  visited  the  traps  Newell  frequently 
carried  a  drag,  a  couple  of  flayed 
muskrats  tied  to  a  string,  which 
he  dragged  along  behind  him, 
making  a  scented  trail  from  one 
trap  to  another.  Any 
marten  crossing  this 
trail  would  turn  and 
follow  it,  and  so  come 
straight  to  one  of  the 
,\  traps. 


One  day  a  large  fisher  struck  the  line  and 
made  havoc  of  it.    Pequam  either  tore  the 


pen  to  pieces,  or  else  he  entered  it  craftily 

from  the  rear  and  sprung  the  deadfall  harm-   OffiOUig  OffC 

lessly,  and  then  ate  the  bait  at  his  leisure. 
A  dozen  traps  were  so  destroyed,  and  one 
valuable  marten  which  had  been  caught  was 
eaten  with  the  bait.  For  nearly  a  month 
this  had  continued.  Hardly  a  day  but  Pe- 
quam found  the  line  somewhere,  destroying 
traps  and  good  marten  skins  until  his  hun- 
ger was  satisfied,  and  craftily  avoiding  every 
trap  and  device  that  Newell  set  beside  the 
line  to  catch  him.  It  was  useless  to  follow 
his  trail,  for,  except  when  he  is  gorged  with 
food  and  heavy  with  sleep,  one  might  as  well 
try  to  run  down  a  caribou  as  to  chase  a  wide- 
awake fisher  with  the  hope  of  catching  him. 
At  my  suggestion  Newell  took  up  five  of 
his  large  steel  traps,  which  had  been  set  for 
otter,  and  we  set  out  one  day  to  outwit  Pe- 
quam by  making  him  think  he  understood 
our  devices.  At  a  place  in  the  line  where 
the  big  fisher's  visits  had  been  most  fre- 
quent we  took  away  the  triggers  from  three 


of  the  deadfalls  in  succession  and  propped 
the  logs  up  securely  so  that  they  could  not 

fall  The  pens  were  doubled  in  strength,  so 

tiiat  even  pequam  couid  not  destroy  them; 
and  at  the  entrance  of  each  pen  we  placed 
a  steel  trap  covered  over  with  snow.  The 
two  outside  traps  were  left  sprung  and  harm- 
less, but  the  middle  one  had  its  jaws  open 
ready  for  business;  and  a  fresh  drag  was 
made,  connecting  the  three  traps  and  extend- 
ing out  a  half  mile  on  either  side.  My  idea 
was  that  Pequam  would  first  find  one  of 
the  outside  traps  and  poke  it  about  cau- 
tiously till  he  was  sure  it  was  harmless,  and 
then  go  straight  to  the  next  one. 

Farther  down  the  line  we  tried  another 
device.  In  the  center  of  a  hollow  stump  we 
stuck  a  pole  with  a  fresh-killed  rabbit  swing- 
ing at  the  top.  A  row  of  stakes  was  then 
driven  about  the  stump,  their  tops  sharpened 
and  pointing  outward,  so  that  Pequam  could 
not  reach  the  stump  except  through  one 
entrance  in  the  encircling  fence.  At  the 
entrance  we  left  a  steel  trap  sprung,  and 
covered  it  carefully  with  snow;  but  in  the 


hollow  at  the  top  of  the  stump  was  another 
with  its  hidden  jaws  wide  open,  ready  for  Pe- 
quam  when  he  should  come  to  pull  down 
the  pole  and  carry  off  his  prize.  During  the 
night  a  light  snow  fell  and  covered  up  every 
trace  of  our  work. 

Two  days  later  there  was  an  interesting 
story  to  read  in  the  snow.  Pequam  had  fol- 
lowed the  line  till  he  came  to  the  first  steel 
trap,  and  instantly  he  set  about  understand- 
ing the  new  arrangement.  A  dozen  times 
he  went  about  the  pen,  trying  every  crevice 
with  his  nose  and  eyes.  Then  he  came  to 
the  entrance  and  very  carefully  scraped  away 
the  snow  till  the  harmless  trap  was  bare. 
He  tried  it,  cautiously  at  first,  with  gentle 
taps  and  jabs  of  his  paw;  then  more  and 
more  roughly,  poking  and  jerking  it  about 
at  the  end  of  its  chain  ;  but  no  warning  snap 
followed  and  nothing  happened  to  hurt  him. 
Whereupon  he  walked  straight  over  the  trap 
and  ate  the  generous  bait  that  was  waiting 
for  him.  From  here  he  loped  on  to  the  next 
trap,  which  was  not  harmless,  and,  thinking 
he  understood  such  things,  walked  straight 


258 

TbeTte/tofffie 
CunningOne 


into  it.  We  found  him  near-by  with  the 
clog  caught  fast  at  the  entrance  to  a  den 
among  the  rocks. 

Long  after  I  had  left  the  woods  I  heard 
from  Newell  that  he  had  caught  another 
fisher  in  the  top  of  the  hollow  stump.  ,  Pe- 
quam  had  poked  the  unset  trap  about  till 
he  knew  it  was  harmless,  and  then  —  just  as 
he  went  to  sleep  carelessly  after  killing  the 
deer  —  had  climbed  the  stump  without  any 
thought,  apparently,  of  another  pitfall  that 
might  be  waiting  to  receive  him. 

But  better  than  the  trapping,  and  without 
any  regrets,  was  to  wander  wide  through  the 
woods  alone,  far  away  from  the  saple  line,  to 
follow  Pequam's  trail  and  see  what  he  caught 
and  where  he  slept;  and  then  at  night,  be- 
fore the  singing  birch  logs,  to  compare  notes 
with  Newell  and  learn  from  him  the  reason 
for  things  that  I  could  not  understand. 

Unlike  most  wild  creatures,  Pequam  does 
not  seem  to  keep  her  little  ones  with  her 
through  the  winter.  A  mother  deer  usually 
keeps  her  fawns  until  the  following  spring, 
breaking  a  way  for  them  through  the  heavy 


snows,  leading  them  to  the  best  feeding 
places,  guarding  them  from  danger,  teach- 
ing  them  from  her  own  example  the  things 
which  a  deer  must  know;  and  it  is  one  of 
the  sad  things  of  hunting  that,  if  a  doe  be 
killed  in  the  autumn,  her  fawn  will  have 
small  chance  to  live  through  a  severe  winter, 
unless,  as  is  sometimes  the  case,  the  fawn 
joins  himself  to  another  doe  and  follows  her 
about.  Even  Upweekis  the  lynx  often  keeps 
her  big,  round-eyed,  savage  young  cubs  with 
her,  teaching  them  to  hunt  and  beat  the 
bush  together  in  the  long  winter  when  food 
is  scarce.  But  Pequam,  like  all  the  tribe  of 
weasels,  which  have  scant  affection  for  their 
young,  seems  to  turn  her  cubs  adrift  when 
she  has  led  them  about  for  a  little  while  in  the 
autumn ;  after  which  their  instincts  and  quick 
wits  enable  them  to  shift  for  themselves. 

In  the  hungry  days,  however,  the  fisher 
cubs  let  native  cunning  take  the  place  of 
affection.  The  mother  may  cast  them  off, 
but  they  know  her  trail,  and  follow  it  at  a 
distance  whenever  they  need  food.  In  the 
early  winter  they  do  very  well  by  themselves, 


26o 

TheTtef/offfie 


though  they  know  little  of  the  world  then 
and  are  easily  caught  in  traps;  but  when 
the  spring  comes  and  small  game  is  scarce, 
and  they  are  neither  skillful  nor  powerful 
enough  to  tackle  a  deer,  then  they  fall  back 
on  the  skill  and  generosity  of  their  elders. 
Sometimes  they  find  their  own  mother; 
more  often  —  for  Pequam,  like  Mooweesuk 
the  coon,  has  a  streak  of  gentleness  in  him 
for  his  own  kind  —  they  take  up  the  trail  of 
the  first  big  fisher  they  cross,  and  follow  it  for 
days  to  pick  the  bones  and  to  eat  up  any- 
thing he  may  have  left  of  his  kill  after  his 
own  hunger  is  satisfied. 

More  interesting  than  these  tagging  trails 
.  of  the  young  fishers  are  those  of  the  foxes 
that  follow  Pequam.  Foxes  are  always  hun- 
gry, and  in  the  spring,  when  they  are  raven- 
ous and  when  Pequam  takes  to  killing  deer 
on  the  crust,  two  or  three  of  them  will  hang 
to  the  trail  of  a  big  fisher  and  live  for  weeks 
on  the  proceeds  of  his  hunting.  Pequam 
rarely  covers  or  hides  his  kill ;  but  if  it  be  a 
small  one,  and  the  territory  be  not  disturbed 
by  men,  he  will  often  lie  close  beside  his 


game,  in  the  nearest  log,  and  will  rush  out  from 
his  hiding  to  drive  away  the  prowlers  that 
would  not  leave  a  single  bone  by  morning. 

Occasionally  in  the  snow  you  may  read 
the  story  of  his  watch  and  guard,  and 
then  a  curious  thing  sometimes  comes  out. 
Scarcely  has  he  eaten  his  full  and  yawned 
sleepily  when  some  prowler  comes  up  on 
his  trail  to  share  the  feast.  If  it  be  another 
fisher,  Pequam  stands  aside  when  he  is  satis- 
fied and  makes  no  objection;  for  the  hun- 
gry beggar  is  a  young  animal,  not  yet  big 
enough  to  kill  for  himself.  The  older  ani- 
mals are  solitary,  each  hunting  over  a  wide 
territory  and  rarely,  except  in  famine,  cross- 
ing over  to  the  hunting-grounds  of  any  other 
fisher;  but  the  young  have  not  yet  found 
their  own  places,  and  follow  freely  where 
they  will.  Pequam,  if  one  may  believe  his 
tracks,  recognizes  this  and  gives  his  crumbs 
ungrudgingly  to  his  hungry  kinsmen. 

When  the  foxes  appear  you  read  another 
story.  Before  Pequam  has  half  finished  they 
come  trotting  up  on  his  trail,  and  squat  on 
their  tails  in  a  hungry  circle  around  him. 


They  wrinkle  their  pointed  noses  and  lick 
their  chops  at  the  good  smell  in  the  air; 
/fl€/fa//  Of  HiC  thev  open  their  jaws  in  a  great  hungry  yawn, 
showing  their  red  gums  and  their  sharp 
white  teeth.  They  are  not  beggars,  —  oh, 
no!  —  these  gaunt,  light-footed  bandits  that 
with  the  crows  and  moose-birds  follow  Pe- 
quam,  as  a  horde  of  hungry  mouths  always 
follow  a  shark  at  sea.  Sharers  of  the  feast  are 
they,  guests  from  the  byways  and  hedges,  to 
whom  every  smell  is  an  invitation.  Never 
a  word  is  said ;  but  one  sits  behind  the  mas- 
ter of  the  feast  and  makes  his  jaws  crack 
suggestingly ;  the  others  move  around  and 
yawn  prodigiously  in  his  face,  telling  him 
politely  to  hurry  up  and  eat  quickly,  so  that 
the  real  feast  may  begin. 

The  very  sight  of  these  hungry,  yawning, 
exasperating  fellows  rouses  Pequam's  temper 
like  poking  a  stick  at  him.  He  rushes  at 
the  nearest  fox  to  annihilate  him ;  but  Elee- 
mos  turns  and  floats  away  lightly  through 
the  woods,  as  if  the  breeze  were  blowing 
him.  Try  as  desperately  as  he  will  with  his 
short  legs,  Pequam  can  never  get  any  nearer 


"  Rouses  Pequam's 
temper" 


to  the  white  tip  of  the  floating  plume  before       , 

him;  and  worst  of  it  all,  Eleemos  seems  to    -_    _    ._    _,- 

be  making  no  effort,  but  looks  back  over  his   '**//&/ Of  Me 

shoulder  as  he  capers  along.  Pequam  turns 
back  at  last,  only  to  hurl  himself  headlong 
through  the  snow  far  faster  than  he  came; 
for  the  other  foxes  are  already  on  his  kill, 
tearing  it  away  and  bolting  it  in  big,  hungry 
mouthfuls.  He  scatters  them  like  chaff  and 
hunts  one  away  into  the  swamp ;  whereupon 
the  first  fox  slips  in  and  gets  a  mouthful  with 
the  others.  Then  Pequam  comes  flying  back 
and  sits  on  his  deer  and  spits  impotently  at 
his  uninvited  guests. 

He  does  not  chase  them  again,  but  eats 
his  fill,  while  the  foxes  sit  around  and  yawn 
hugely.  With  a  mouthful  now  to  stay  their 
stomachs  they  can  wait  a  little  longer.  They 
are  never  still  a  minute,  but  move  around  and 
sit  on  all  sides  of  the  table.  When  he  has 
eaten  enough  Pequam  cannot  quite  make  up 
his  mind  what  to  do.  He  is  sleepy  already 
and  lies  down  on  the  deer ;  but  the  old  habit 
of  hiding  away  is  strong  upon  him,  and  he 
wants  to  find  a  hollow  log.  He  cannot  sleep 


where  he  is,  and  if  he  goes  away,  the  foxes 
will  fall  upon  his  game  ravenously  and  leave 

him  only  dry  pickings  when  he  comes  back 
agairu  He  backs  away  craftiiy  at  iast,  and 

then,  when  a  bush  hides  him  and  the  foxes 
are  tearing  at  the  game,  he  rushes  back  and 
scatters  them  like  a  whirlwind. 

So  the  little  comedy  runs  on,  and  each 
player  writes  his  own  part  in  the  snow  for 
your  eyes  to  read.  It  always  ends  the  same 
way.  Pequam  leaves  his  game  grudgingly 
and  curls  him  up  to  sleep  in  his  hollow  log. 
But  he  slumbers  uneasily  at  first,  as  one 
does  with  something  on  his  mind ;  and  before 
he  can  sleep  contentedly  he  must  get  up  once 
or  twice  to  chivy  the  foxes,  which  by  this 
time  have  eaten  their  full  and  are  carrying 
away  portions  to  hide  in  the  woods. 

It  is  perhaps  the  thought  of  these  hungry 
thieves  —  if  even  a  fox  can  be  called  a  thief 
for  helping  himself  when  he  is  hungry  — 
that  leads  Pequam  to  leave  behind  him  a 
curious  sign  of  his  ownership.  Once  I  found 
where  he  had  killed  a  porcupine  and  left 
the  greater  portion  of  it  uneaten.  Instead  of 


--?  *  /" 


Cunning  One 


covering  or  hiding  his  game  he  made,  at  a     ^ 

little  distance,  a  circle  of  tracks,  going  around  ^ 

his  game  five  or  six  times  and  leaving  as  U       ff 

many  plain  boundary  lines  in  the  snow.    My 

first  thought  at  the  time  —  and  I  hold  it  still 

—  was  that  Pequam  was  a  young  fisher,  and 

had   left   a   warning   to    any    prowlers   that 

might  find  his  game.    When  I  found  it,  only 

a  pair  of  moose-birds  had  disregarded  the 

warning;  but  I  did  not  know,  at  the  time, 

of   Pequam 's  sleepy  habit  after  eating,  and 

it   may    be    that   he    was    somewhere    near, 

drowsing   away  in  a   hollow   log,  and    had 

made  the  cunning  circles  of  tracks  to  hide 

his  trail  and  to  confuse  any  one  who  should 

attempt  to  find  him. 

It  is  in  hunting  the  porcupine  without 
injury  to  himself  that  Pequam's  cunning  is 
most  manifest.  Unk  Wunk  is  one  of  the 
unanswered  questions  of  the  wilderness;  so 
stupid,  and  yet  so  carefully  shielded  from 
the  harm  and  hunger  that  torments  all  other 
creatures.  He  is  always  fat,  while  crafty 
and  powerful  beasts  are  starving;  and  his 
armor  of  pointed  quills  generally  shields  him 


perfectly  from  their  attacks.  Occasionally  the 
fox  or  the  lynx  or  the  big  owl  tackles  him, 
when  hunger  becomes  intolerable  and  they 
must  eat  or  d^e .  kut  to  touch  the  huge  chest- 
nut bur  anywhere  is  to  fill  one's  mouth  with 
quills;  and  behind  the  bur  is  the  lively  tail, 
always  ready  to  drive  in  the  tormenting  barbs 
by  the  dozen.  Pequam  alone  has  learned  the 
secret  of  safe  attack,  and  kills  a  porcupine 
whenever  he  is  hungry  and  can  find  no 
better  meat.  Trappers  take  his  skin,  but 
rarely  find  any  deeply  imbedded  quills  to  tell 
of  these  encounters;  while  the  late  winter 
pelts  of  fox  and  lynx  often  show  only  too 
plainly  how  they  have  been  punished  in  try- 
ing to  satisfy  their  hunger. 

A  curious  trail  in  the  deep  snow  led  me, 
one  day,  to  what  may  be  the  secret  of  Pe- 
quam's  success.  He  had  crossed  the  clumsy 
trail  of  a  porcupine  and  loped  along  it  rapidly, 
till  with  a  rush  he  headed  Unk  Wunk  before 
the  latter  could  climb  a  tree  and  escape  the 
attack.  For  not  even  Pequam  would  dare 
follow  along  a  branch  and  expose  his  face  to 
the  blow  of  Unk  Wunk's  tail.  The  tracks 


showed  that  the   porcupine  had   thrust  his 

forehead  promptly  against  a  tree  to  save  his 

face,  according  to  his  wont,  and  then  stood 

ready,  a  bristling  cushion  of  spears,  defying  Ctffinmg  One 

anything  to  touch  him. 

Pequam  circled  swiftly  behind  his  game 
and  plunged  into  the  snow  and  disappeared. 
Deep  under  the  deadly  tail  and  the  feet  and 
body  of  Unk  Wunk  he  pushed  his  tunnel; 
then  thrust  his  nose  out  of  the  snow  just 
under  the   porcupine's   throat  and   gripped 
him  and  held  fast.    A  porcupine  never  strug- 
gles when  wounded,  but  holds  his  thorny 
guard  till  he  dies.    Pequam,  lying  under  the 
snow  with  only  his  muzzle  exposed,  so  that 
the  barbed  and  swift-striking  tail  could  not 
touch  him,  simply  held  his  grip  on  the  throat 
till  the  tense  muscles  relaxed  their 
spasmodic  pull  and  lay  still.    Then 
he  came  out,  opened  his  game 
carefully  along  the  under  side, 
where  there  are  no  quills,  and 
ate  his  fill  and  went  away 
untouched,  leaving  the  bri- 
ery, untoothsome  morsels  ; 


^ 


to   any  hungry  prowlers  that  might  follow 
his  trail  to  share  the  feast. 

Once  since  then  a  guide  told  me  of  follow. 

ing  a  black  cat.s  trai]>  and  filing  where  he 
crept  up  on  a  porcupine  and  tunneled  under 
'him  and  gripped  the  throat,  while  his  own 
body  was  safe  from  attack  under  the  snow. 
And  I  have  no  doubt  the  habit  is  a  more  or 
less  common  one,  and  may  be  witnessed 
again  if  one  will  but  follow  patiently  Pe- 
quam's  cunning  trail.  Where  fishers  increase 
deer  grow  scarce,  for  Pequam  kills  them 
easily  on  the  crust ;  and  these  two  facts  —  the 
crusted  deer  and  the  outwitted  porcupine  — 
undoubtedly  explain  why  Pequam  is  often 
fat  even  in  the  gaunt  month  of  March,  and 
why  he  sleeps  well-fed  and  warm  for  days  at 
a  time  while  larger  or  faster  animals  must 
wander  all  night  long  through  the  hungry 
woods. 

Many  other  things  were  seen  or  read  on 
the  trail  of  the  Cunning  One,  while  Newell 
followed  his  lonely  saple  line,  and  the  little 
hunting  camp  on  the  Dungarvon  waited 
with  its  warm  welcome  to  tired  hunters  in 


the  twilight.  Those  were  good  days;  and 
no  hunting  ever  paid  better  in  happiness 
than  that  which  followed  the  trails  without 
a  thought  of  harm,  and  was  content  to  let 
the  snow  tell  its  own  stories.  But,  like  all 
good  times,  they  did  not  last  very  long. 
Work  called  me  away;  and  I  like  to  think 
that  the  solitary  old  Indian  sometimes  missed 
his  queer  hunting  companion,  who  used 
to  go  out  for  caribou  and  leave  his  rifle  at 
home,  and  who  always  came  back  satisfied 
at  nightfall. 

The  door  of  the  little  hunting  camp  now 
hangs   open   on  its  hinges,   and  within  are 
only  mice  and  squirrels.    Newell  is  far  away, 
following  other  trails.    The  birch  logs  that 
sang  to  us  the  woods'  songs  are  now  ashes, 
and  the  wind  has  scattered  them  to  the  forest 
again;    but   Pequam's  coat,  still  glossy  and 
soft  and  warm,  curls  itself  into  a  great  muff 
about  a  little  girl's  fingers.    The  winter  wind 
rufHes  it,  and  it  starts  and  gleams  and 
quivers  nervously,  as  ..*-«'; 
if  it  heard  a  footfall 
on    its   track;    and 


when  you  put  your  face  down  in  it  to  keep 
your  nose  warm,  as  Pequam  used  to  do 
when  he  went  to  sleep,  there  is  a  subtle, 
woodsy  fragrance  which  speaks  of  fir  balsam 
and  birch  smoke,  and  the  still,  white  woods, 
and  of  a  warm  hollow  log  under  the  snow  at 
the  end  of  the  crooked  trail. 


273 


THE  sun  was  setting  gloriously  behind 
the  bleak  western  headlands  as  our  lit- 
tle schooner  doubled  Goose  Cape,  nodding 
a  solemn  good-night  with  her  jib-boom  to 
the  row  of  solemn  seals  on  the  ice  floe,  and 
then  headed  up  slowly  into  the  great  silent 
bay  to  her  night's  anchorage. 

Between  us  and  the  unknown  waters 
towered  the  icebergs,  some  grounded  fast 
in  a  hundred  fathoms,  others  drifting  majes-  "2 
tically  in  the  slow  currents,  with  the  long 
ocean  swells  racing  and  breaking  over  the 
wide  green  shelves  of  ice  and  boom-booming 
their  hollow  thunder  in  the  deep  caverns. 

27S 


Like  a  row  of  mighty  sentinels  they  stretched 
clear  across  our  course,  from  the  black  rocks 
of  Maiden's  Arm  to  the  towering  cliffs  of 
Bouleaux  Cove,  forbidding  all  entrance  to 
the  lonely  lands  and  waters  beyond.  Every 
crevice  and  great  hollow  on  their  shining 
sides  seemed  to  be  poured  full  of  molten 
color,  while  the  sunset  caught  their  glitter- 
ing pinnacles  and  broke  into  a  glory  beyond 
all  words. 

Hundreds  of  sea-birds,  gulls  and  penguins 
and  "  hagdowns  "  and  unknown  fishers  of  the 
deep,  had  settled  upon  the  icebergs  and  folded 
the  great  wings  that  were  weary  with  the  long 
day's  flight.  Here  they  clustered  in  a  dense 
mass  in  some  great  hollow,  like  a  mother's 
shoulder,  talking  softly  to  one  another ;  more 
often  they  settled  one  by  one  in  an  endless 
line  upon  the  topmost  shining  ridges,  where 
they  stood  out  like  delicate  ebony  carvings 
against  the  rugged  roof  line  of  the  icebergs. 
In  the  whole  stupendous  scene,  rock  cliffs  and 
ice  mountains  and  boundless  sea  and  burning 
sky,  the  eye  came  back  again  and  again  and 
rested  on  these  tiny  dots  against  the  sunset. 


The  ear  heard  not  the  crash  of  falling  ice,  nor 
the  roar  of  the  smitten  sea,  nor  the  hollow 
boom  of  breakers  in  the  caverns ;  it  listened 
for  a  low  chatter,  soft  as  the  talk  of  birds  in 
their  sleep,  which  spoke  of  life  and  the  glad- 
ness of  life  in  the  midst  of  the  vast  solitude. 

Behind  us,  as  we  watched  the  scene  and 
the  Wild  Duck  wore  away  to  find  a  safe 
opening  between  tfre  bergs,  the  dusk  came 
creeping  up  over  the  ocean's  brim.  In  front 
a  marvelous  light  of  sunset  and  ice  and 
colored  sea  beckoned  yet  repelled  us  by  its 
awful  glory.  All  around  us  was  silence,  vast, 
profound,  palpable,  a  silence  of  bygone  ages, 
which  hushed  the  sea-birds'  chatter  and  which 
was  only  deepened  and  intensified  by  the  far- 
off  surge  of  breakers  on  the  shoal  and  the 
nearer  roll  of  thunder  in  the  ice  caves.  Then 
out  of  the  silence  a  groan,  an  awful  sound  in 
the  primeval  stillness  of  the  place,  rumbled 
over  the  startled  sea.  It  was  as  if  the  abyss 
itself,  silent  for  untold  ages,  had  at  last  found 
voice,  and  the  voice  was  a  moan  of  pain. 

The  man  at  the  wheel,  a  grizzled  old  fish- 
erman of  St.  Barbes,  who  took  sublimity  and 


278 

Outofffie 


cod  traps,  storm  and  sunshine,  roaring  sea 
and  the  sweet  rest  of  snug  harbors  all  alike 
in  seasoned  indifference,  whirled  sharply  and 
swept  the  sea  with  a  glance  like  a  needle 
thrust.  Joe  the  cook  tumbled  up  from  the 
forecastle,  his  mouth  open  to  take  every- 
thing in. 

"  What 's  that,  boy  ?  "  he  demanded  of  the 
skipper  with  the  freedom  of  Newfoundland 
fishermen ;  but  the  skipper  only  shook  his 
head,  and  looked  seaward  whence  the  sound 
had  come. 

"  Breakers  on  Brehaut  Shoal,"  said  the 
man  at  the  wheel  doubtfully  at  last.  "  Air 
;  in  the  ice  caves,"  echoed  Jack ;  but  at  the 
word  the  low  sound  rumbled  on  our  ears 
again  and  we  all  knew  instantly  that  it  came 
from  some  living  creature. 

Noel  the  Indian  pointed  suddenly  to  wind- 
ward, where  a  hump  of  water  separated  itself 
from  the  sea  and  swirled  and  bubbled  like 
soup  in  a  pot.  A  huge  whale  broke  the 
surface;  something  flashed  beside  it;  then 
another  surge  and  the  whale  was  gone;  but 
the  awful  moan  was  in  our  ears  again.  On 


the  instant  all  discipline  was  lost  in  a  great 
curiosity  as  I  grabbed  the  wheel  from  the 
grizzled  old  fisherman,  while  he  and  Noel 
tugged  at  the  main-sheet,  and  the  skipper 
jumped  for  the  jibs,  and  the  cook  ran  for 
the  skipper's  glass,  and  the  little  Wild  Duck 
whirled  up  to  the  wind  and  went  poking  her 
jib-boom  at  the  soapy  lather  where  the  whale 
had  disappeared. 

Now  a  whale  is  so  big  that  puny  men  may 
be  pardoned  the  supposition  that  he  has  no 
ordinary  feelings.  All  the  way  up  the  West 
Coast  and  through  the  Straits,  where  we  had 
struggled  against  tide  and  gale  and  fog  and 
ice  and  the  deadly  monotony  of  cramped 
limbs  and  close  quarters,  my  friend  had 
amused  himself  by  shooting  bullets  at  the 
whales  that  crossed  our  course,  as  one  would 
chuck  peas  at  an  elephant.  Since  we  could 
rarely  get  near  enough  to  study  the  huge 
creatures  it  was  fun  to  stir  them  up,  and 
watch  the  sea  "seethe  like  a  pot"  when 
they  went  down  in  a  hurry.  A  repeating 
rifle  was  usually  standing  by  the  foremast, 


with  which  we  sometimes  added  a  dish  to 

2oO 

our  fare  of  cod  and  lobsters,  and  which  served 


Noel  well  in  bagging  a  young  seal  for  its  oil 
and  skin.  As  the  schooner  lay  balanced  for 
hours  at  a  time  between  wind  and  tide,  and 
we  saw  with  weariness  another  day  without 
gain  and  another  salmon  river  unexplored, 
there  would  be  a  sudden  whoosh,  like  the 
breath  of  forty  locomotives,  and  a  great 
black  back  would  come  plunging  up  out  of 
the  depths.  Then  the  weariness  would  van- 
ish, and  all  watched  intently  as  somebody 
grabbed  the  rifle  and  sent  the  bullets  skip- 
ping. Invariably  they  did  no  harm  at  all, 
but  only  waked  us  up;  for  the  huge  black 
back  would  go  ponderously  on  its  way,  ris- 
ing and  sinking,  with  bullets  skipping  like 
hornets  athwart  its  path  and  lighting  every- 
where except  on  the  shining  hump.  When 
the  magazine  was  exhausted  Noel  would 
chuckle  silently  and  go  to  sleep  again. 

The  whales  were  about  us  continually  in 
all  shapes  and  sizes,  only  a  few  of  which 
were  familiar;  the  rest  plunged  into  sound- 
less deeps  or  followed  their  own  endless  trails 


into  the  fog,  like  strange  steamers,  unknown 
and  unnamed.  Now  a  shoal  of  playing  dol- 
phins would  go  rushing,  rolling  past  with  a 
purring  roar  of  smitten  water  like  the  low 
surge  of  breakers  on  the  beach;  while  over 
the  mad  stampede  single  individuals  hurled 
themselves  into  the  air  in  sheer  exuberance 
of  life  and  animal  spirits.  Again  a  troop  of 
little  whales  of  some  unknown  species  would 
gather  silently  around  the  fishing  punts,  spy- 
ing and  peeking,  as  inquisitive  as  so  many 
blue  jays.  Once  a  stray  right-\vhale,  and  again 
an  unmeasured  monster  —  a  sulphur-bottom, 
I  judged,  from  his  enormous  length  and  his 
high  spouting  —  steamed  past  like  an  express 
train,  making  the  Wild  Duck  seem  of  no 
size  or  consequence  whatever.  Sometimes  a 
dozen  of  the  leviathans  would  be  in  sight  at 
once;  again  a  solitary  rorqual  would  cross 
our  bows  ponderously,  always  alone,  yet 
maintaining  apparently  a  secret  communi- 
cation with  others  of  his  kind  scattered  over 
twenty  miles  of  ocean;  for,  though  I  never 
saw  them  approach  each  other,  they  always 
appeared  and  vanished,  turning  to  east 


Outo/ffie 


282 


or  west  all  together,  as  if  a  single  impulse 
were  leading  them.  Knowing  little  about 
the  uncouth  creatures,  I  contented  myself 
with  classifying  them  all,  as  sailors  do,  into 
big  ones  and  little  ones,  and  would  watch 
for  hours  in  the  hope  of  getting  near  enough 
to  one  to  observe  him  closely.  Meanwhile 
my  friend  and  the  sailors  were  rapidly  and 
harmlessly  going  through  the  supply  of 
cartridges. 

One  day,  when  from  an  enormous  depth  a 
big  whale  shot  his  length  up  out  of  the  sea 
and  fell  back  with  a  resounding  splash  and 
shot  the  air  out  of  his  lungs  with  a  whoosh  to 
waken  the  seven  sleepers,  I  grabbed  the  rifle 
thoughtlessly — having  jibed  at  the  others  for 
their  poor  shooting — and  took  a  quick  crack 
at  the  monster  before  he  had  fairly  settled 
down  to  travel.  The  steel-jacketed  bullet 
caught  him  fair  on  the  hump,  glanced 
through,  and  went  skipping  out  exultingly 
over  the  sea.  Then,  so  quick  that  it  made 
one  rub  his  eyes,  the  huge  form  had  dis- 
appeared and  the  sea  thereabouts  looked  like 
a  basin  of  soap-suds.  "  B  'ys,  b'ys,  but  that 


tickled  his  backbone ! "  cried  the  skipper ; 
but  for  me,  at  least,  one  problem  was  solved 
effectually.  The  whale  has  feelings,  no  doubt 
about  that;  and  for  the  rest  of  the  trip  the 
rifle  was  kept  in  the  cabin  and  we  began  to 
watch  the  huge  creatures  with  a  less  barbaric 
interest. 

Another  day,  towards  twilight,  while  the 
schooner  loafed  along  in  no  hurry  whatever 
to  reach  an  anchorage,  I  was  standing  at  the 
bow  watching  the  shoals  of  fish  and  the  cir- 
cling gulls,  when  a  whale  broke  water  and 
lay  resting  on  the  sea.  Close  about  him  were 
some  black  rocks,  breaking  the  surface  as 
the  tide  fell ;  and  as  Leviathan  scratched  him- 
self leisurely,  like  a  huge  sea-pig,  against  the 
rough  surfaces  to  rid  his  skin  of  the  clinging 
barnacles,  or  lay  quiet  with  his  black  hump 
above  the  water-line,  he  might  easily  have 
been  mistaken  for  one  of  the  rocks,  about 
which  the  tide  wras  swirling  and  ebbing.  A 
big  herring  gull,  heavy  and  sleepy  with  too 
much  feeding,  came  flapping  along.  As  he 
saw  the  inviting  rock  he  set  his  broad  wings 
and  dropped  his  heavy  feet  to  alight.  The 


284 


toes  had  barely  touched  the  huge  back  when 
--.  — plunge!  kuk-kuk !  There  was  a  lightning 
swirl  and  a  smother  of  soapy  water.  The 
whale  was  gone ;  and  a  frightened  and  wide- 
awake gull  was  jumping  upward,  humping 
his  back  and  threshing  the  air  and  kukku- 
king  his  astonishment  at  the  disappearance 
of  his  late  landing-place. 

Here  were  more  feelings,  delicate  enough 
to  feel  the  touch  of  a  bird's  toes  on  a  back 
so  big  that,  judging  by  what  the  whalemen 
had  told  me  of  the  whale's  insensibility  while 
being  lanced,  I  had  supposed  its  nerves  must 
be  arranged  about  as  plentifully  as  telegraph 
wires  in  the  country.  The  whole  proceed- 
ing was  like  the  lightning  jump  of  a  sleep- 
ing wolf  when  a  twig  cracks,  or  a  leaf  drops 
close  to  his  ear. 

One  day,  while  the  schooner  lay  becalmed, 
I  jumped  into  the  dory  with  Noel  and  pulled 
inshore  to  see  what  the  herring  boats  were 
doing,  and  to  collect  some  of  the  queer, 
unknown  fish  that  were  brought  up  in  the 
nets.  As  we  moved  among  the  boats  I  caught 
sight  of  a  big  whale  gliding  in  towards  us 


with  all  the  cautiousness  of  a  coyote  approach- 
ing a  sleeping  camp.  He  would  stop  here 
and  there  and  pick  up  something,  and  glide  n  J- 

forward  again  to  left  or  right,  like  a  fox 
quartering  towards  a  quail  roost.  As  he  drew 
near  I  saw  that  he  was  after  the  scattered 
herring  which  had  fallen  from  the  nets,  and 
which  were  now  floating  astern  on  the  sur- 
face as  the  tide  drifted  them  away.  Closer 
and  closer  he  came,  while  we  all  stopped  our 
work  to  W7atch.  The  huge  bulk  would  glide 
softly  up  to  a  tiny  dct  of  silver  floating  on 
the  ocean's  blue;  the  great  mouth  would 
open,  wide  enough  to  take  in  a  fisherman, 
and  close  gently  over  one  small  herring. 
Then  he  would  swallow  his  tidbit  and  back 
away  slowly  to  watch  the  boats  awhile  before 
picking  up  another  morsel.  He  always  turned 
side  wise  so  as  to  look  at  us  with  one  eye,  as 
a  chicken  does ;  for  he  seemed  unable  to  see 
straight  in  front  of  him.  But  he  had  other 
senses  to  depend  upon,  and  also  that  unknown 
feeling  of  danger  wrhen  ordinary  senses  are 
useless,  which  the  whalemen  tell  us  is  so 
strongly  developed  in  this  uncouth  monster. 


286 

Out  of  me 


While  he  was  nosing  after  two  or  three  her- 
ring  I  motioned  Noel  to  be  quiet,  and  slipping 
an  oar  over  the  stern  began  to  scull  gently 
towards  him.  Hardly  had  the  bow  of  my 
dory  cleared  the  line  of  punts  when  he  sank 
from  sight;  and  when  he  came  up  again  he 
was  far  away  and  heading  straight  out  to  sea. 
Farther  up  the  coast,  where  the  Straits 
began  to  be  ice  choked,  another  curious  fact 
came  out,  namely,  that  some  of  these  warm- 
blooded monsters,  though  they  live  amid  the 
icebergs,  are  unwilling  to  come  close  to  even 
a  small  cake  of  floating  ice.  The  water  there 
is  always  chilled,  and  Leviathan  avoids  it  abso- 
lutely. More  than  that,  though  he  is  gener- 
ally set  down  as  a  stupid  creature,  he  showed 
some  small  degree  of  intelligence  in  taking 
care  of  himself.  Here  on  the  West  Coast, 
especially  under  the  influence  of  strong  south- 
erly winds,  the  tide  will  often  set  for  days  in 
the  same  direction  without  turning.  Levia- 
than knows  this,  though  many  a  skipper 
loses  his  vessel  in  the  fog  because  of  his 
ignorance  of  this  steady  eastward  set  of  the 
tide.  At  such  times  the  loose  ice  drifts  away 


and  the  whales  enter  many  of  the  narrow  ~ 
bays  to  feed  abundantly  on  the  shoaling  fish. 
But  when  the  tide  turns  at  last,  and  the  ice 
comes  drifting  back,  the  huge  creatures  leave 
the  bays,  fearing  to  be  shut  in  by  a  bar- 
rier of  ice  to  the  whalemen's  mercies.  And 
though  there  be  a  dozen  whales  in  the  bay, 
as  many  miles  apart,  they  generally  turn  all 
at  the  same  instant,  as  if  at  command,  and 
head  swiftly  out  to  the  open  sea  and  safety. 

Where  the  Straits  grew  narrow  and  the 
floating  ice  threatened  to  block  our  way  alto- 
gether, we  saw  another  curious  bit  of  Levia- 
than's precaution.  He  would  stand  straight 
up  on  end,  appearing  like  a  huge  black  spile 
rising  ten  or  fifteen  feet  above  the  water,  and 
look  far  ahead  over  the  nearer  ice  floes  to 
see  if  the  Straits  were  blocked.  And  if  the 
survey  were  unsatisfactory,  he  would  dive 
deep  and  come  up  with  a  terrific  rush,  breach- 
ing his  entire  length  out  of  water,  for  one 
swift  look  far  ahead  to  see  whether  his  course 
were  clear. 

Still  later,  when  we  had  at  last  doubled 
Cape  Bauld  with  its  fog  and  ice  and  were 


heading  southward,  I  saw,  one  day,  a  mother 
whale  lying  on  the  sea  suckling  her  little 
one.  They  were  resting  inshore,  close  beside 
our  course,  and  I  had  an  excellent  chance 
to  watch  them  through  my  glasses  ere  the 
mother  took  alarm  and  disappeared  silently, 
as  a  mother  moose  might  have  done,  leading 
her  ungainly  offspring.  To  my  wonder  she 
did  not  lie  sleepily  quiet,  as  other  mothers 
do,  —  that  wTould  have  been  fatal  to  the  little 
fellow,  —  but  kept  up  a  rhythmic  rolling  from 
side  to  side ;  now  dipping  the  calf  deep  from 
sight,  now  lifting  his  head  above  the  top  of 
the  waves  as  he  clung  to  her  side,  so  as  to 
give  him  free  chance  to  breathe  as  he  fed 
greedily  from  his  mother's  great  breast.  And 
as  \ve  drew  nearer  there  was  a  faint,  low 
mumbling,  —  whether  the  rare  voice  of  the 
whale,  or  an  audible  breathing  through  the 
blow-holes,  or  made  in  some  other  way,  I 
could  not  tell, — full  of  a  deep,  uncouth  ten- 
derness as  she  talked  in  her  own  way  to 
her  little  one,  telling  the  world  also  that 
even  here,  in  the  cold,  ice-choked  wastes  of 
^_^^^-g=-  desolation,  life  was  good,  for  love  was  not 


lacking.  Indeed,  the  tenderness  and  rare 
devotion  of  these  huge  monsters  for  their 
little  ones  is  the  most  fascinating  thing 
about  them. 

Here  were  feelings  cf  an  entirely  different 
sort ;  and  now  the  heart  of  man  was  touched 
in  the  thought  that  there  was  something  in 
the  huge  creatures  of  our  sport  that  was, 
after  all,  akin  to  ourselves.  At  first  our  in- 
terest had  been  largely  barbaric,  to  stir  up 
Leviathan  with  the  fear  of  man,  and  to  see 
how  quickly,  like  the  oily  flash  of  a  dolphin, 
he  could  make  his  bulk  disappear.  The 
scientific  stage  followed,  in  which  we  spoke 
of  unclassified  varieties,  hoping  to  make 
a  discovery,  and  babbled  of  Denticete  (the 
presence  of  teeth  being  more  important 
than  habits  of  life)  and  Bal&nidce  and  Phy- 
seteridce,  especially  Physeter  macrocephalus, 
and  Orcinus  gladiator  in  six  varieties  — 

"  Wat 's  that  ?  "  demanded  the  grizzled  old 
fisherman,  who  could  stand  it  no  longer. 

"  That 's  a  killer-whale,"  I  told  him. 

"Oh,"  said  he,  "sh'ld  think  'twould  kill 
ye  to  remember  it." 


Outofffie 


So  we  gave  up  trying  to  name  these  mon- 
sters  of  the  abyss  with  names  sufficiently 
uncouth  to  be  scientific,  and  brought  back 
the  crew  to  life  by  lowering  a  boat  to  see 
what  kind  of  squid  or  fish  or  tiny  mollusk 
they  were  eating.  For  we  had  been  told 
that,  in  certain  species,  the  throat  of  one  of 
these  huge  whales  is  so  small  that  a  pippin 
would  choke  him. 

Soon  the  sporting  interest  awoke.  One 
who  knew  the  whalemen  well  talked  of  har- 
poons and  ambergris,  and  told  the  story  of 
the  Nantucket  ship  that  had  been  charged, 
and  battered  and  sunk,  by  a  fighting  old 
bull.  Whereupon  the  grizzled  fisherman  of 
St.  Barbes  put  in  with  an  account  of  what  he 
had  seen  last  summer,  when  a  whale  blun- 
dered into  the  fishermen's  nets  during  a 
storm.  Three  days  he  lay  in  the  trap;  now 
pushing  his  head  into  a  net  and  drawing 
back  in  afright  at  the  queer  thing;  now 
breaching  clear  of  the  water  to  see  if  there 
were  any  way  out,  and  falling  back  heavily 
again  as  if  discouraged  in  his  quest.  Then 
he  evidently  made  up  what  he  would  call  his 


'  A  long  snaky  body  leaped  clear 
of  the  water" 


mind,  and  the  whole  fleet  of  boats  stood  by 
and  cursed  impotently  while  the  hopes  of 
a  dozen  families  went  whirling  blindly  out 
to  sea  on  the  flukes  of  a  bewildered  rorqual. 
But  all  these  stages  were  passed;  and  our 
interest  was  purely  human  as  we  stood  now 
in  a  close  group  at  the  weather  rail  of  the 
schooner,  scholar  and  fisherman  alike,  to 
learn  what  hidden  grief  or  pain  had  added  a 
new  voice  to  the  world  of  waters. 

The  whale  rolled  up  again,  nearer  this 
time.  There  was  a  wriggle  and  flash  beside 
him ;  a  long  snaky  body  leaped  clear  of  the 
water,  doubling  itself  like  a  steel  spring,  and 
struck  down  a  terrific  blow  at  the  whale's 
head.  "Thresher!"  cried  the  skipper  excit- 
edly. The  creature  leaped  and  struck  again, 
and  a  heavy  thud  rolled  over  the  ocean,  like 
the  blow  of  a  giant  flail.  Before  I  could  see 
plainly  all  that  happened  something  struck 
the  whale  from  below,  and  he  rolled  under 
in  a  smother  of  foam,  while  the  ocean  itself 
seemed  to  bellow  forth  its  rage  and  pain. 
But  whether  the  strange  sound  were  indeed 


293 

Outofffie 


294 


the  rare  voice  of  the  whale,  or  the  reverbera- 
tion  of  smitten  water,  or  the  vibration  of  great 
volumes  of  air  driven  out  of  the  laboring 
lungs  through  the  blow-holes,  we  could  not 
tell;  nor  had  the  fishermen  ever  heard  it 
save  when  a  whale  was  fighting  for  his  life. 
While  the  whale  was  gone  and  we  watched 
breathless  for  him  to  come  to  the  surface 
again,  the  skipper  and  the  old  fisherman 
answered  my  hurried  questions.  Yes,  they 
had  seen  the  threshers,  or  fox-sharks,  before, 
and  had  sometimes  caught  them  in  their 
nets.  Once  they  had  seen  three  or  four  of 
them  fighting  a  whale  as  they  were  jigging 
cod  on  the  shoals.  They  w7ere  from  twelve 
to  twenty  feet  long,  the  skipper  said,  in- 
cluding the  prolonged  upper  lobe  of  the  tail, 
which  they  could  use  with  terrific  force  as 
a  weapon  of  offense.  Then  the  scholar 
brought  out  of  the  cabin  the  skull  of  a  fox- 
shark  that  we  had  found  in  the  hut  of  a 
Labrador  fisherman,  a  skull  that  was  chiefly 
a  pair  of  long,  pointed,  cruel  jaws  with  rows 
of  hooked  ivory  fangs  fitting  together  like 
the  teeth  of  a  bear  trap.  "That's  it,  —  a 


thresher,"  said  the  skipper.  "  He'll  gouge 
them  jaws  into  a  whale  or  porp'se  with  a 
twist  o'  his  tail,  and  rip  out  a  bite  that  would 
fill  a  bucket.  There  he  is !  " 

The  whale  shot  out  of  the  depths  and 
breached  clear  of  the  water  in  his  upward 
rush.  As  he  fell  back  there  was  the  same 
flash  and  wriggle  beside  him,  the  same  leap 
as  of  a  bent  spring,  the  same  heavy  blow  and 
moan.  Then  something  else  appeared,  dart- 
ing up  like  a  ray  of  light,  and  the  long  blade 
of  a  swordfish  ripped  through  the  whale's 
side.  The  force  of  his  attack  brought  the 
big  fish  to  the  surface,  where  we  saw  his 
shoulders  plainly  and  caught  the  flash  of 
light  on  his  terrible  weapon  as  he  turned  to 
dive  beneath  his  victim.  The  whale  sounded 
again,  turning  fair  on  end,  with  the  thresher 
leaping  over  him,  or  standing  on  his  head 
to  strike  down  a  last  terrible  blow,  as  the 
huge  victim  sought  blindly  for  an  abyss  deep 
enough  to  escape  the  lash  and  sting  of  his 
enemies. 

The  schooner  fell  away  in  the  light  evening 


wind,  and  the  rush  of  the  uncouth  tragedy  = 


295 

Outofffie 


carried  it  swiftly  away  where  no  man  watched 
the  end  of  it.  But  this  much  seemed  clear: 
the  two  strangely  assorted  bandits,  savage 
monsters  of  the  savage  sea,  were  working 
together  to  destroy  their  great  and  help- 
less victim,  —  the  thresher  lashing  him  down 
to  the  swordfish  with  flail-like  blows  of  his 
flukes,  and  the  swordfish  driving  him  up  on 
the  point  of  his  lance  to  the  thresher  again. 
What  started  the  fight,  or  how  it  ended,  no 
man  can  say.  Here  and  there,  between  the 
ship  and  the  rim  of  dusk,  there  would  be  a 
sudden  turmoil,  a  flash  and  a  whirl  of  foam. 
As  the  turmoil  sank,  a  low  moan  shivered  on 
the  sea.  So  they  passed  out  into  the  deeps 
and  were  gone. 


297 


MATWOCK,    the    huge    polar    bear, 
drifted  down  from  the  Arctic  on  an 
iceberg    and    landed,    one    spring  night  in 
the  fog,  at  Little  Harbor  Home  on  the  east 
Newfoundland  coast. 

It  seemed  at  first  a  colossal  fatality,  that 
iceberg.  The  fishermen  had  just  brought 
their  families  back  from  the  winter  lodge  in 
the  woods,  and  had  made  their  boats  ready 
to  go  out  to  the  Hook-and-Line  Grounds  for 
a  few  fresh  cod  to  keep  themselves  alive. 
Then  a  heavy  fog  shut  in,  and  in  the  midst 

of  the  fog  the  iceberg  came  blundering  into 

299 


the  tickle,  as  if  there  were  no  other  place  in 
300 

a  thousand  leagues  of  sea   and   rock-bound 


tW°  hundred  fathoms  of 
water  at  the  harbor  mouth,  and  the  great 

berg  touched  bottom  softly,  yet  with  a  ter- 
rific impact  which  sent  huge  masses  of  ice 
crashing  down  on  the  black  rocks  on  either 
side.  It  might  stay  a  month,  or  it  might 
drift  away  on  the  next  tide.  Meanwhile  the 
fishermen  were  helpless  as  flies  in  a  bottle ; 
for  the  iceberg  corked  the  harbor  mouth 
and  not  even  a  punt  could  get  out  or  in. 

Old  Tomah  came  that  same  day  from 
his  hunting  camp  far  away  in  the  interior. 
Grown  tired  of  eating  beaver  meat  and 
smoking  willow  bark,  he  had  brought  some 
otter  skins  to  trade  for  a  little  pork  and 
tobacco,  with  a  few  warm  stockings  thrown 
in  for  good  measure.  But  the  trading 
schooner,  for  which  the  islanders  watch  in 
spring  as  a  lost  man  watches  for  morning, 
had  not  yet  come,  and  the  fishermen  were 
themselves  at  the  point  of  starvation.  For  a 
month  they  had  tasted  nothing  but  a  little 
dried  fish  and  doughballs.  Hunting  was 


out  of  the  question ;  for  their  dogs  were  all 
dead,  and  their  few  guns  were  out  with  the 
young  men,  who  before  the  advent  of  the 
iceberg  had  taken  their  lives  in  their  hands 
and  gone  up  the  coast  sealing  in  a  stout 
little  schooner.  So  Tomah,  taking  his  otter 
skins,  started  back  for  his  own  camp. 

As  his  custom  was  in  a  strange  place, 
Tomah  first  climbed  the  highest  hill  in  the 
neighborhood  to  get  his  bearings.  The  blun- 
dering iceberg  seemed  to  him  a  grim  joke, 
more  grim  than  the  joke  on  himself  which 
had  left  him  after  a  forty-mile  tramp  without 
pork  or  tobacco  or  warm  stockings.  He  was 
watching  the  berg  with  silent,  Indian  intent- 
ness  when  a  mass  of  overhanging  ice  crashed 
down  on  the  rocks.  Something  stirred  in 
a  deep  cave  suddenly  laid  open;  the  next 
instant  his  keen  eyes  made  out  the  figure 
of  a  huge  white  bear  standing  in  the  cave, 
rocking  his  head  up  and  down  as  the  smell 
of  the  village  drifted  out  of  the  harbor  into 
his  hungry  nostrils. 

Tomah  came  down      „ ^,..^ 

from  the  hill  to  leave     S  ,''-•' ' 


fflp-  A^s-'  •-• 


a  warning  at  the  little  store.  "  Bes'  look 
out,"  he  said.  "  Bear  over  dere  on  dat  hice, 
big,  oh,  big  one !  He  come  here  to-night, 
soon 's  dark,  see  wat  he  kin  find.  He  hun- 
gry, an'  oh,  cross;  don't  'fraid  noting.  Bes' 
set  um  trap,  ketch  um  plenty  meat."  Then, 
because  he  had  left  his  own  gun  behind  and 
could  borrow  none  in  the  village,  he  started 
inland  on  his  long  tramp. 

Matwock  the  bear  landed  from  his  iceberg 
as  soon  as  it  was  dark,  as  Tomah  had  said, 
and  headed  straight  for  the  village.  For  a 
month  he  had  been  adrift  in  the  open  sea 
without  food;  because  the  seals,  which  had 
first  enticed  him  away  till  fifty  miles  of  open 
water  stretched  between  him  and  his  native 
haunts,  had  now  returned  to  the  coast  to 
rear  their  young  on  the  rocks  and  grounded 
ice-floes.  Meanwhile  the  great  berg  to  which 
he  clung,  as  a  mariner  to  a  floating  spar, 
drifted  steadily  southward  over  the  mist- 
shrouded  ocean  with  its  base  a  thou- 
sand feet  deep  in  a  powerful  current. 
Most  of  the  time  he  had  slept,  going 
back  to  the  old  bear  habit  of 


hibernation  to  save  his  strength ;  but  when 
the  berg  grounded,  and  the  wind  from  the 
harbor  brought  the  smell  of  fish  and  of  living 
animals  to  his  nostrils,  he  sprang  up  raven- 
ously hungry.  Never  having  seen  men,  he 
had  no  fear.  Straight  and  swift  he  followed 
his  nose,  ready  to  seize  the  first  food,  living 
or  dead,  that  lay  in  his  path. 

On  the  outskirts  of  the  village  he  came 
upon  a  huge  deadfall  which  the  men  had 
made  hurriedly  at  Tomah's  suggestion,  partly 
to  get  meat,  of  which  they  were  in  sore  need, 
but  more  to  protect  themselves  and  their  lit- 
tle ones  from  the  savage  prowler  which  knew 
no  fear.  The  bait  was  a  lot  of  offal,  —  bones, 
and  fish-skins  tied  together  with  cod-line ;  and 
the  fall  log  was  the  stump  of  a  big  mast, 
water-logged  and  heavy  as  lead,  which  had 
come  ashore  years  ago  from  a  wreck,  and 
which  they  made  heavier  still  by  rocks  lashed 
on  with  cables.  Matwock  entered  the  pen 
swiftly,  grabbed  the  bait,  and  thud!  down 
came  the  weighted  log  on  his  shoulders. 

Now  a  black  bear  would  have  been  caught 
across  the  small  of  the  back  and  his  spine 


MafwocA:  of 


cracked  like  an  egg-shell  by  the  fearful  blow. 
But  Matwock  was  altogether  too  big,  and 
the  pen  altogether  too  small.  With  a  roar 
of  rage  he  hurled  the  log  aside,  smashed 
the  pen  into  fragments,  and  charged  straight 
through  the  village,  knocking  to  pieces  with 
blows  of  his  terrible  paws  the  pens  and  fish- 
flakes  that  stood  across  his  path.  More  than 
one  man  jumped  from  his  bed  at  the  uproar 
to  see  the  huge  white  brute  rush  past,  and  to 
bless  himself  that  he  was  safe  within  doors. 

Matwock  went  back  to  his  cave  in  the 
iceberg,  angry  and  sore,  yet  with  a  strange 
timidity  at  heart  from  this  first  experience 
in  the  abodes  of  men.  What  the  abominable 
thing  was  that  had  fallen  on  his  back  he 
had,  of  course,  no  idea;  but  he  had  learned 
in  a  minute  that  he  could  not  prowl  here 
with  the  power  and  authority  that  marked 
him  in  the  vast  snowy  solitudes  where  no 
man  dwells.  He  was  licking  a  wound  that 
a  chain  had  torn  in  his  shaggy  white  coat, 
when  a  faint  scratching  and  grunting,  amid 

^A^^.^<-the  ceaseless  roar  of 

breakers  and   booming 


of  waves  in  the  ice  caverns,  came  to  his  sen- 
sitive ears  and  made  him  steal  out  instantly 
to  investigate. 

Down  on  a  shelf  of  ice,  on  the  seaward 
side  of  the  great  berg,  two  bull  seals  had 
floundered  out,  fat  and  heavy  with  food,  to 
sleep  and  bask  in  the  sun,  which  was  just 
then  rising.  A  glance  told  the  bear  that  the 
big  seals  had  chosen  the  spot  well,  where  no 
danger  could  approach  save  from  the  open 
sea  out  of  which  they  had  just  come.  Of 
the  berg  itself  they  had  no  fear  whatever; 
for  it  rose  behind  them  a  hundred  feet  in  a 
sharp  incline  to  where  a  score  of  glistening 
spires  and  minarets  began,  on  which  the  sea- 
birds  were  resting.  So  they  stretched  their 
fat  bulks  comfortably  on  the  narrow  shelf  of 
ice,  watching  the  open  sea,  blinking  sleepily 
in  the  sunshine. 

Slowly,  cautiously,  Matwock  circled  the 
berg,  creeping  upward  along  a  great  crevice 
to  reach  another  shelf  over  the  basking  seals. 
His  great  feet  were  padded  thickly  with  fur, 
which  clung  to  the  ice  like  wool ;  and  where 
the  ascent  was  most  ticklish  the  muscles  of 


MafwocX  or 


his  fore  legs  contracted  strongly,  driving  his 
claws  like  steel  hooks  into  the  ice.    So  he 

gained  the  high  shelf  at  last  and  lay  down 
wjtn  omv  ^-s  ears  and  eves  showmg  over 

the  edge  as  he  looked  down  hungrily  at  his 
game. 

Below  him  was  a  dizzy  incline,  steep  as  a 
•mountain  top,  polished  and  glistening  with 
the  frost  and  storms  of  the  centuries,  at  the 
foot  of  which  the  unconscious  seals  were 
basking.  Very  deliberately  Matwock  chose 
his  position  over  the  larger  seal  ;  then  with 
his  hind  legs  he  pushed  himself  steadily  over 
the  edge,  crouching  low  on  his  belly  with  his 
nose  on  his  fore  paws,  which  were  stretched 
straight  out  in  front  of  him.  Like  a  flash  of 
light  he  glanced  down  over  the  slope,  strik- 
ing the  seal  a  terrific  blow  and  knocking 
him  end  over  end  as  the  bear  shot  over  him 
into  the  sea.  There  was  a  terrible  commotion 
for  an  instant,  which  set  the  sea-birds  flap- 
ping and  clamoring  wildly;  then  out  of  the 
turmoil  Matwock's  head  arose,  gripping  the 
big  seal  by  the  neck.  He  laid  his  game 
carefully  on  the  ice  shelf,  kicked  himself  up 


after  it,  and  ate  it  there,  where  a  moment 
before  it  had  been  blinking  sleepily  in  the 
morning  sun. 

The  presence  of  his  favorite  game  in  the 
strange  land  turned  Matwock's  thoughts 
from  the  village  of  men  into  which  he  had 
blundered  with  the  iceberg.  No  boats  came 
out  or  in  to  disturb  him,  so  he  kept  his 
abode  in  the  ice  cavern,  which  was  safe  and 
warm,  and  out  of  which  he  wandered  daily 
up  and  down  the  rocky  coast. 

A  few  mother  seals  had  their  young  here, 
hidden  on  the  great  ice-floes,  which  were 
fast  anchored  to  the  rocks  and  shoals.  The 
little  seals  are  snow-white  at  first  —  for  kind 
Nature  forgets  none  of  her  helpless  children 
—  the  better  to  hide  on  the  white  ice  on 
which  they  are  born.  Only  their  eyes  and 
the  tips  of  their  noses  are  black,  and  at 
the  first  alarm  they  close  their  eyes  and  lie 
very  still,  so  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to 
see  them.  Even  wrhen  you  stand  over  them 
they  look  like  rough  lumps  of  snow-ice.  If 
they  have  time  they  even  hide  the  black  tips 
of  their  noses  in  their  white  fur  coats;  and 


307 

JfafwocJc  of 


£     if  you    appear  suddenly   they  simply  close 
their  eyes,  and  the  black  nose  tip  looks  like 

or  a  stray  pebble?  or  a  tiny  bit  of  bark  left  by 

tjie  uneasy  winds  that  sweep  over  the  ice- 
floes. As  they  grow  larger  and  begin  to  fish 
for  themselves  they  gradually  turn  dark  and 
sleek,  like  their  mothers,  the  better  to  slip 
unseen  through  the  dark  waters  in  which 
they  hunt. 

Like  all  bears,  Matwock  had  poor  eyes, 
and  depended  chiefly  on  his  nose  in  scout- 
ing. He  would  swim  swiftly,  mile  after  mile, 
along  the  edges  of  the  floes,  raising  his  head 
to  sniff  every  breeze,  trying  to  locate  where 
the  young  seals  were  hiding.  But  the  little 
ones  give  out  almost  no  scent  at  such  times, 
besides  being  invisible,  and  Matwock  rarely 
dined  on  a  nest  of  young  seals.  The  only 
way  he  could  catch  them  was  by  a  cunning 
bit  of  bear  strategy.  He  would  swim  far  out 
from  the  edge  of  the  floes  and  drift  about 
among  the  floating  ice,  looking  himself  like 
an  ice  cake ;  or  else  he  would  crouch  on  an 
ice-field  and  watch  for  hours  till  he  saw  a 
big  seal  clamber  out,  and  knew  from  her 


actions  that  she  was  feeding  her  young. 
Then  he  would  head  straight  and  swift  for 

8 

the  spot  and  nose  all  over  it  till  he  found 
what  he  was  seeking. 

When  the  big  bull  seals  came  ashore  to 
bask  in  the  sun,  resting  on  a  rock  or  the 
edge  of  an  ice-floe  whence  they  could  slip 
instantly  into  deep  water,  Matwock  invented 
a  new  style  of  still-hunting.  He  would  slip 
silently  far  down  to  leeward  —  for  the  seal's 
nose  is  almost  as  keen  as  his  own  — 
and  there  begin  his  cautious  stalk  up-wind. 
Sinking  his  enormous  weight  deep  in  the 
water  till  only  his  nose  and  the  top  of  his 
head  appeared,  he  would  glide  slowly  along 
the  edge  of  the  floe,  looking  exactly  like  a 
bit  of  loose  ice  drifting  along  in  the  tide. 
When  near  the  game  he  would  disappear 
entirely  and,  like  an  otter,  not  a  ripple 
marked  the  spot  where  he  went  down. 

The  big  seal  would  be  blinking  sleepily 
on  the  edge  of  the  ice-floe,  raising  himself 
on  his  flippers  to  stretch  like  a  \volf,  or  turn- 
ing leisurely  to  warm  both  sides  at  the  sun, 
when  the  huge  head  and  shoulders  of  a  bear 


3io 

MaftrocA  of 


would  shoot  up  out  of  the  water  directly  in 
front  of  him.  One  swift,  crushing  blow  of 
the  terrible  paw,  and  the  seal  would  be  dead 
without  a  thought  of  what  had  happened 
to  him. 

So  Matwock  lived  and  hunted  for  a  week, 
growing  fat  and  contented  again.  Then 
the  seals  vanished  on  one  of  their  sudden 
migrations  —  following  the  fish,  no  doubt  — 
and  for  a  week  more  he  hunted  without  a 
mouthful.  One  night,  when  he  returned  late 
to  his  cave,  the  great  iceberg  had  broken  its 
anchorage  and  drifted  well  out  of  the  tickle, 
and  from  the  harbor  the  smell  of  fresh  fish 
drifted  into  his  hungry  nostrils.  For  the  day 
had  been  sunny  and  calm,  and  the  starving 
fishermen  had  slipped  out  to  the  Hook-and- 
Line  Grounds  and  brought  back  exultingly 
the  first  cod  of  the  season. 

Again  Matwock  came  ashore,  tired  as 
he  was  after  an  all-day's  swim,  and  headed 
straight  for  the  good  smell  in  the  village.  The 
big  deadfall  was  set  in  his  path,  baited  with 
fresh  offal,  and  the  log  was  weighted  twice 
•:^:  g£-f*  r^  as  heavily  as 


before.  But  the  bear  had  learned  cunning 
and  entered  the  trap  from  the  rear,  tearing 
the  heavy  pen  to  pieces  as  if  it  were  made 
of  straws.  The  fall  came  down  again  with 
a  thud  that  made  the  ground  shiver;  but  it 
fell  harmlessly  on  the  bed  log,  and  Mat- 
wock  ate  the  bait  greedily  to  the  last  scrap. 
Then  he  entered  the  village,  rummaging  the 
wharves  and  sheds  boldly,  and  leaving  his 
great  footprints  at  every  door.  When  he  had 
eaten  everything  in  sight  he  headed  down 
the  Long  Arm  of  the  harbor,  drawn  still  by 
the  smell  of  fish  that  floated  up  in  the  still 
night  air. 

Late  that  night  Old  Tomah  appeared  with 
his  otter  skins  and  a  haunch  of  caribou  at 
Daddy  Crummet's  cabin,  on  the  edge  of 
the  woods  far  down  at  the  bottom  of  Long 
Arm.  All  winter  Daddy  Crummet  had  been 
sick,  chiefly  from  rheumatism  and  lack  of 
food  ;  and  Tomah,  taking  pity  on  the  lonely 
old  man,  blundered  around  in  the  dark  to 
find  wood  to  make  a  stew  of  the  savory 
meat  which  he  had  brought  with  him  all 
the  way  from  his  camp  in  the  interior.  At 


312 

Mafwocfi:  of 


twilight  a  fisherman  —  kind-hearted  and 
generous,  as  they  all  are  —  had  come  to  leave 
a  couple  of  fresh  cod  and  hurry  away  again 
on  his  long,  weary  pull  up  the  Arm.  Daddy 
meant  to  cook  the  fish,  but  was  too  weak 
when  the  time  came,  and  left  them  in  a  bar- 
rel in  his  little  shed.  Then  came  Tomah 
with  his  stew,  and  the  old  man  ate  and  felt 
better.  It  was  midnight  when  they  had 
smoked  a  pipe  of  Tomah's  dried  willow  bark 
and  traded  the  scant  news  from  the  two  ends 
of  the  wilderness  and  turned  in  to  sleep. 

A  terrible  racket  in  the  shed  roused  them 
—  whack  !  bang  !  thump  !  Something  was 
out  there  knocking  everything  to  pieces. 
Daddy,  under  the  bedclothes,  began  to 
shiver  and  wail  that  the  devil  himself  had 
come  to  fetch  him.  Tomah  tumbled  out  of 
his  caribou  skins  and  jumped  up  like  a  jack- 
in-a-box,  just  as  a  barrel  was  flung  against 
the  door  with  a  crash  that  made  it  shiver.  In 
the  appalling  silence  that  followed  they 
heard  the  fichap,  p'chap  of  some  huge  beast 
crunching  the  codfish  between  his  jaws. 

Tomah   had  brought  his  gun  this  time. 


He  grabbed  it  from  behind  the  stove,  pulled 
the  big  hammer  back,  and  felt  with  his  fin- 
gers to  be  sure  that  the  cap  was  ready  on  **&*&&€&  Of 
the  nipple.  He  stole  to  the  door  and  opened 
it  cautiously,  pushing  the  gun -barrel  out 
ahead  of  him.  A  huge  white  beast  turned 
swiftly  as  the  door  squeaked.  Tomah,  mak- 
ing out  what  seemed  to  him  a  great  head  in 
the  darkness,  poked  the  muzzle  of  the  gun 
into  it  and  pulled  the  trigger.  There  was  a 
deafening  roar;  the  door  was  slammed  back 
in  the  face  of  the  old  Indian  with  a  force 
that  sent  him  sprawling  on  his  back.  Daddy 
with  a  last  terrible  groan  lay  still,  as  if  it 
were  all  over. 

When  Tomah  scrambled  to  his  feet,  his 
ears  ringing,  his  nose  filled  with  pungent 
powder  smoke,  there  lay  Matwock  at  the 
end  of  his  long  trail.  He  was  lying  as  if 
asleep,  his  great  paws  outspread  across  the 
threshold,  his  head  resting  heavily  between 
them.  The  tail  of  the  last  codfish  stuck  out 
of  a  corner  of  his  mouth,  and  his  lips  were 
parted  in  a  ferocious  grin,  as  if  to  the  end 
it  were  all  a  huge  joke. 


"  Py  cosh ! "  said  Tomah,  rubbing  his  scalp 
and  looking  down  in  a  puzzled  way  at  the 
,    great  beast,  "why  I  go  lug  um  dat  caribou 

me/cel>er§&  forty  mile?  huh?    Plenty  meat  here— oh, 

plenty!"  he  added,  as  he  dragged  the  great 
head  aside,  and  shut  the  door,  and  rolled  up 
in  his  caribou  skins  for  another  nap. 


A  GLORIOUS  salmon 
river,  unnamed  but  not 
unknown  to  the  few  New- 
foundland  fishermen  who  have 
explored  the  rugged  East  Coast, 
comes  singing  and  shouting  down 
through  the  woods  and  leaps  hila- 
riously over  Kopswaugan,  the  jumping  place. 
Below  the  falls  the  river  roars  and  tumbles 
among  the  great  rocks ;  spreads  a  little  into 
numerous  channels  of  rushing  white  water; 
gathers  again  into  a  strong,  even,  rippling 
current,  full  of  crinkly  yellow  lights;  rolls 
317 


Me 


through  a  huge  pool  sedately;  and  then  goes 
shouting  down  the  rapids  to  another  fall. 

Birds  are  s}nging  to  tne  sweiiing  buds ;  the 

wind  rusties  among  the  new  leaves  and  hums 
steadily  in  the  spruce  tops;  the  air  quivers 
to  the  rhythmic  throbbing  of  the  falls ;  a  deep 
organ  peal  rolls  up  from  the  rapids;  but  all 
these  sounds  and  subtle  harmonies  are  but 
dreams  of  the  sleeping  woods,  —  for  listen! 
over  all  broods  the  unbroken  silence  of  the 
wilderness. 

Just   below   the   falls,  where    the    torrent 
spreads  into  hurrying  white  channels,  a  man 
with  a  salmon  rod  is  standing  on  a  flat  rock 
that  juts  into  the  current.     All  the  bright 
sunny  morning  he  has  been  standing  there, 
his  ears  full  of  bird  and  river  music,  his  eyes 
full  of  the  rushing  foam  and  sunlight  of  the 
river,  his  heart  brimful  of  all  that  is 
"-  good  in  the  wilderness.    A  couple 
of  salmon,  little  nine-pounders,  lie 
on  a  shaded   mossy  bank,  where 
Noel  sits  smoking  his  pipe.    Now 
and  then  the  Indian  quietly 
advises  trying  a  pool  lower 


down ;  and  the  advice  is  good,  because  the 
river  is  full  of  salmon,  and  down  below, 
where  they  have  not  seen  the  fly,  they  will 
come  up  with  a  rush  at  anything.  Here  they 
have  already  grown  shy  from  seeing  the  little 
Jock  Scott  sweeping  over  the  foam,  followed 
by  the  terrific  rushes  of  two  captured  salmon 
and  of  three  more  that  broke  away  gloriously. 
But  it  is  only  a  small  part  of  fishing  to  catch 
fish,  and  the  man  finds  it  perfect  where  he 
is,  thinking  it  better  fun  to  locate  one  good 
salmon  and  entice  him  to  rise,  rather  than 
go  below  and  catch  or  lose  a  dozen.  So  he 
Stands  quietly  on  the  jutting  rock,  watching 
the  river,  listening  to  the  music. 

So  long  has  he  stood  there,  following  the 
swing  and  jump  of  his  little  fly  in  the  boil- 
ing current,  that  the  rushing  movement  has 
got  into  his  eyes,  producing  a  curious  illu- 
sion that  every  salmon  fisher  will  recognize. 
Not  only  the  river,  but  the  shores  themselves 
seem  sweeping  along  to  keep  pace  with  the 
hurrying  flood.  The  big  log  that  bridges 
the  stream  below  the  falls  is  running  swiftly 
away,  and  after  it  come  the  white  sheet  and 


320 

Wfrere  ffie 


thunder  of  the  waterfall  trying  to  catch  it. 
The  green  banks  and  bushes  scud  away  like 
clouds  before  the  wind.  Even  the  great  solid 

rock  under  foot  joins  the  swift?  unsteady  pro. 

cession;  and  down  we  all  go,  trees,  rocks,  and 
river,  swaying,  jumping,  singing,  and  shout- 
ing together  on  a  glorious  chase  through  the 
wilderness. 

In  the  midst  of  the  rush  and  tumult  the 
clear,  sweet  song  of  Killooleet,  the  white- 
throated  sparrow,  follows  us,  as  if  he  were  say- 
ing, Good-by,  Friend  Fisherman,  Fisherman, 
Fisherman.  And,  spite  of  all  the  apparent 
uproar  of  rocks  and  river,  the  exquisite  little 
melody  sounds  in  our  ears  as  clearly  as  if 
Killooleet  were  singing  behind  our  tent  in 
the  twilight  stillness. 

The  man's  head  grows  dizzy  with 
the  delusion.    His  foothold,  at  best, 
is  none  too  steady  over  the  rush- 
ing torrent;   so  he  closes  his  eyes 
to  bring  back  the  reality  of 
things.    And  the  reality 
must    be    good    indeed, 
judging    by   the    way 


his  soul,  like  a  wind-touched  harp,  is  thrilling 

to  the  melody  of  woods  and  waters.  ^, 

As  he  opens  his  eyes  again  there  is  a  Where  I//C 
sudden  plunge  on  the  edge  of  the  farthest 
white  rush  of  water.  A  huge  salmon  tumbles 
into  sight,  showing  head  and  shoulders  and 
a  foot  of  broad  blue  back  that  makes  the 
man's  nine-pounders  look  like  smelts  in  a 
cod  trap. 

"Das  de  feller;  big,  oh,  big  one!"  says 
Noel,  straightening  his  back,  and  instantly 
the  slender  rod  gets  into  action.  The  fly 
falls  softly  across  the  current;  swings  down 
with  the  flood  and  fetches  up  beautifully 
at  the  end  of  a  straight  leader,  just  over 
the  spot  where  the  water  humped  itself  as 
the  big  salmon  went  down.  Like  a  flash 
he  boils  up  at  the  lure,  throwing  his  big 
shoulders  out  of  the  foam  in  his  rush;  but 
the  fly  swings  nearer  and  hangs  skittering 
on  the  surface. 

"  Miss  um,  dat  time,"  says  Noel  with  im- 
mense disappointment;  and  the  man  draws 
in  his  line  and  sits  down  on  the  rock  to  let 
the  big  salmon  settle  into  his  sunken  eddy 


and  forget  what  he  saw  when  his  head  came 
out  of  water. 

while  we  are  waiting  for  him  to  grow 
quiet_»resting  him,"  the  salmon  fishermen 
call  it  —  let  us  find  out,  if  we  can,  what  he  is 
doing  here,  and  why  he  halts  so  long  in  the 
midst  of  all  this  turmoil,  while  his  instincts 
are  calling  him  steadily  up  the  river  to  the 
quiet  shallows  where  his  life  began. 

First,  look  down  into  the  water  there  at 
your  feet,  where  the  rwer  is  running  swiftly 
but  smoothly  over  the  yellow  pebbles  near 
shore.  Nothing  but  smiles,  dimples,  and 
crinkly  yellow  lights,  whirling  and  chan- 
ging ceaselessly,  as  if  the  river  here  were 
full  of  liquid  sunshine.  Look  again;  curve 
a  hand  on  either  side  of  your  eyes  to  shut 
out  the  side-lights,  and  look  steadily  just 
below  that  round  yellow  stone  under  its 
three  feet  of  crinkly  sunshine.  At  first  you 
see  nothing,  your  eyes  being  full  of  the  flash- 
ing surfaces  and  the  dimpling  lights  and 
shadows  of  the  yellow  flood.  Suddenly,  as 
if  a  window  were  opened  in  the  river,  you 
see  a  vague  quivering  outline.  "  Did  he  just 


come  ?    Is  he  gone  again  ?  "    Not  at  all ;  he 
is  right  there ;  look  again. 

Another  long  look;  again  the  impression 
of  a  window  opened,  and  now  you  see  a 
salmon  plainly.  He  is  lying  there,  with  his 
nose  in  a  sunken  eddy,  resting  quietly  while 
the  river  rolls  on  over  him.  You  see  his  shin- 
ing silver  sides,  the  blue  tint  on  his  back,  the 
black  line  of  a  net  on  his  head,  the  tail  sway- 
ing rhythmically,  —  every  line  of  the  splen- 
did fish  as  in  a  clear  photograph.  Then,  as 
if  the  window  were  suddenly  shut,  you  see 
nothing  but  dancing  yellow  lights.  The  fish 
has  vanished  utterly,  and  you  must  look 
again  and  again,  waiting  till  the  lights  and 
dimples  run  away  together;  and  there  is 
your  salmon,  lying  just  where  he  was  before; 
nor  has  he  moved,  except  for  the  lazy  sway- 
ing of  his  broad  tail  and  the  balancing  of  his 
fins,  while  the  lights  above  hid  him  from 
your  eyes. 

When  looking  for  salmon,  as  with   <g£^ 
other   good   things  in  life,  the  C^^11^ 
eye    is    easily    confused    by    a   ^--^ 
multitude  of  little,  unimportant   '^t^^™^ 


things  close  at  hand.  Standing  on  the  same 
rock  Noel  will  point  out  a  score  of  salmon 
fflC  wnere  you  see  nothing  but  changing  lights 
and  dimpies.  It  is  not  because  his  eyes  are 
stronger  or  keener  than  yours  —  for  they 
would  fail  in  a  week  if  they  had  your  work 
to  do  —  but  simply  because  he  has  learned 
to  look  through  the  intermediate  superficial- 
ities for  the  better  thing  that  he  is  seek- 
ing. Where  your  eye  sees  only  ripples  and 
flashes,  his  eye  disregards  these  things  and 
finds  the  big  salmon  lying  just  below  them. 
Climb  into  the  tree  there,  the  big  spruce 
leaning  out  over  the  water.  Now  the  surface 
lights  have  lost  their  power  over  your  eyes, 
and  you  can  see  clearly  to  the  river's  bed. 
There,  close  beside  the  one  salmon  that  you 
glimpsed  for  a  moment,  a  dozen  more  are 
lying.  Above  and  below  they  sprinkle  the 
river,  each  one  lying  with  his  nose  behind 
a  stone  and  catching  the  current's  force  on 
his  fins  in  such  a  way  that  the  flood,  which 
would  sweep  him  away,  is  made  to  hold  him 
in  position  without  conscious  effort,  just  as 
a  sea-gull  soars  against  the  wind. 


Look  out  now  at  the  white  rush  where 
the  big  salmon  just  plunged  at  my  fly.  He 
is  not  there,  and  you  wonder  if  the  shining 
leader  or  the  sight  of  the  swaying  rod  has 
scared  him  away.  Now  let  your  eye  follow 
the  current  a  little  way.  There,  ten  feet  be- 
low where  the  foam  ceases,  a  monster  salmon 
is  lying  behind  a  stone  under  a  smooth 
run  of  water.  As  you  look  he  darts  forward 
like  a  ray  of  light;  you  lose  him  for  an 
instant;  then  he  plunges  out  just  where  you 
saw  his  first  great  rise.  In  a  moment  he 
sweeps  back  again  and  rounds  up  into  his 
own  eddy,  lightly,  gracefully,  as  a  sloop 
rounds  up  to  her  mooring.  There  is  some- 
thing in  his  mouth,  —  a  leaf  perhaps,  or  a 
big  black  and  yellow  butter- 
fly, —  but  the  next  moment 
he  shoots  it  out,  as  one  would 
blow  a  cloud  of  smoke.  The 
current  seizes,  crumples  it,  and 
sends  it  down,  spreading  and 
quivering  like  a 
living  thing,  into 
the  next  eddy. 


325 


326 

Wfrere  Jfte 


Instantly  another  salmon  flashes  into  sight, 
catches  the  leaf  with  a  whirl  and  plunge, 
holds  it  in  his  mouth  a  moment  and  then 
blows  it  out  again. 

That 's  what  they  are  doing,  just  playing 
with  pretty  little  things  that  come  skipping 
and  dancing  down  the  river,  as  your  fly 
came  at  the  end  of  its  invisible  leader.  Half 
an  hour  ago  they  were  asleep,  or  utterly 
indifferent  to  all  your  flies  and  delicate  cast- 
ing ;  now  the  queer  mood  is  on  them  again, 
and  they  will  take  anything  you  offer.  But 
wait  a  moment ;  here  comes  a  fish-hawk. 
Ismaques,  on  set  wings,  comes  sailing 
gently  down  the  river.  He 
sheers  off  with  a  sharp  cliwee  ! 
and  circles  twice  as  he  notices  us  in  the 
tree-top ;  but  in  a  moment  he  is  scanning 
the  water  again.  From  his  height  his  keen 
eyes  see  every  fish  in  the  river ;  but  they  are 
all  too  large  and  too  deep  under  the  swift 
water.  Later,  when  the  run  of  grilse  comes 
in,  he  will  be  able  to  pick  up  a  careless  one ; 
but  now  he  just  looks  over  the  river,  as  if  it 
were  his  own  preserve,  and  circles  back  to 


the  lake  where  his  nest  is.    When  he  brings 
his  little  ones  down  here  to  fish,  you  will  see 


them  at  first  whirling  low  over  the  water,  all 

excitement  at  seeing  so  many  big  salmon  for  5d/mQn  Jump 

the  first  time.    But  the  ripples  and  the  dan- 

cing lights  bother  their  eyes,  just  as  they 

do  yours  ;  and  then  you  will  hear  Ismaques 

whistling  them   up  higher  where   they  can 

see  better. 

As  we  stand  on  the  rock  once  more  and 
the  fly  goes  sweeping  down  the  current,  there 
is  the  same  swift  rush  of  our  big  salmon 
in  the  same  spot,  and  another  miss.  He  is 
rising  short,  that  is,  behind  the  fly;  which 
shows  that  he  is  a  bit  suspicious,  and  that 
our  lure  is  too  large.  As  we  change  it  lei- 
surely for  a  smaller  one  of  the  same  kind, 
the  heavy  plunge  of  a  fish  draws  your  atten- 
tion up-stream,  where  a  salmon  is  jumping 
repeatedly  high  out  of  water  just  below  the 
falls.  "What  is  he  jumping  there  for?" 
You  will  laugh  when  I  tell  you  that  he  is 
trying  to  get  a  good  look  at  the  falls;  but 
that  is  true,  nevertheless.  Come  up  to  the 
fallen  spruce  that  bridges  the  river,  and  let 


us  watch  him  there  for  a  while.    Our  big 
salmon  will  keep  ;  he  is  in  a  rising  mood  ; 


an(j  _wjien  we  get  \i[m,  fishing  is  over  for  the 

day?  for  we  have  enough. 

Below  the  falls,  which  are  here  some  ten 
or  twelve  feet  high,  salmon  are  jumping 
continually.  As  you  watch  the  heavy  white 
rush  of  water  other  salmon  poke  their  heads 
out  of  the  foam,  look  at  the  falls  a  moment, 
and  disappear.  Then  a  silver  gleam  flashes 
through  some  black  water  ;  a  salmon  springs 
out,  flies  in  a  great  arc  up  to  the  rim  of  the 
falls,  just  touches  the  falling  sheet  of  water, 
plunges  over  the  brim,  and  disappears  with 
a  victorious  flash  of  his  broad  tail  into  the 
swift  water  above.  He  has  done  it,  —  jumped 
the  falls,  —  and  though  the  whole  thing  was 
swift  as  light,  you  have  the  impression  that 
at  last  you  know  just  how  it  was  done. 

Down  yonder  are  some  lower  falls,  and 
there  you  can  see  the  salmon  leaping  clear 
over  them  in  a  single  spring,  rising  out  of 
the  foam  below  and  disappearing  into  the 
swift,  clear  stream  above,  without  even  touch- 
ing the  falling  sheet  of  water;  but  here  it  is 


"A  salmon  springs 
out " 


different.  Salmon  after  salmon  springs  out, 
lands  on  his  tail  against  the  falling  water 
just  below  the  brim  of  the  falls,  and  then 
plunges  up  and  over,  as  his  tail,  like  a  bent 
spring,  recoils  from  under  him. 

Now  throw  a  stone  or  two  into  the  falls, 
just  where  that  last  salmon  struck.  There ! 
you  hit  it  with  a  big  one ;  and  in  a  flash  you 
see  and  hear  that  the  sheet  of  falling  water 
is  thinnest  there,  and  that  the  face  of  the 
rock  lies  close  beneath.  Here  is  a  suggestion 
which  may  explain  why  and  how  the  salmon 
jump. 

Down  on  the  still  reaches  of  the  river  they 
jump  continually,  especially  in  the  late  after- 
noon. That  is  partly  for  fun  and  play,  no 
doubt;  but  it  is  also  for  practice,  to  accus- 
tom themselves  to  high  jumps,  and  to  learn 
how  to  land  on  head  or  tail  as  they  please. 
Here  under  the  falls  they  jump  out  of  water, 
and  again  hold  their  heads  above  the  foam, 
as  you  see  them,  to  study  the  place  and  see 
where  they  must  strike  in  order  to  succeed. 
There  to  the  left  is  a  spot  where  the  falls  are 
a  foot  lower  than  the  average;  but  though 


332 

ftftere  ffie 


you  watch  all  day  you  will  not  see  a  single 
salmon  jump  there,  where  you  would  natu- 
rally expect  him  to  try.  The  river  pours 

swiftly  through  this  notch>  worn  in  the  softer 

rock,  and  spurts  far  out  from  the  face  of 
the  wall  beneath.  Were  a  salmon  to  strike 
there,  he  would  find  no  solid  purchase  from 
which  to  finish  his  leap,  but  would  be  over- 
whelmed in  a  flash  by  the  force  of 
the  cataract. 

To  the  right  of  this  notch  are  two 
places    which   seem   to   be  favorites 
with  the  salmon.    Again  and  again, 
in  days  of   watching,  you   will  see 
them  land  on  their  bent  tails  in  these 
two  spots.    As  they  land  their  tails 
strike  down  through  the  falling  water, 
touch  the  rock  beneath,  and  recoil 
like  steel  springs;   and  the  salmon 
bound  up,  like  rubber  balls,  and  van- 
ish over  the  brim.    Occasionally  they 
fail,  and  you  have  a  confused  impression 
of  a  big  silver  fish  hurled  into  the  tur- 
moil below.    Look!  there  in  the  shallow 
eddy,   beside    that    rock    on    the    shore. 


There  is  a  fat,  eighteen-pound  salmon  strug- 
gling to  hold  his  place.  The  cruel  gash  in 
his  side  shows  all  too  plainly  that  he  failed 
in  his  jump  and  was  hurled  back  upon  the 
rocks. 

To  stay  here  now  is  death  to  Kopseep; 
for  even  should  he  escape  the  bear  and  otter 
and  eagle,  a  multitude  of  parasites,  plant  and 
animal,  would  fasten  upon  the  wound  and 
suck  his  life  away.  That  is  what  his  slime 
is  for,  to  oil  his  silver  sides  and  keep  away 
these  deadly  fungi  that  swarm  in  fresh  water. 
Once  the  scales  are  scraped  away  and  the 
tender  flesh  laid  bare  Kopseep  has  no  pro- 
tection, and  to  stay  in  the  river  is  sui- 
cide. But  even  here  Nature  is  not  unkind; 
nor  does  she  ever  forget  a  creature's  needs. 
Other  salmon  eat  nothing  while  they  are 
moving  up  the  rivers  to  their  spawning  beds, 
and  appetite  itself  vanishes ;  but  the  wounded 
fish  there  suddenly  feels  within  him  the  need 
of  recuperation,  and  takes  to  feeding  greedily 
upon  whatever  the  river  brings  him.  Toss 
in  a  worm,  a  bit  of  meat,  a  fly,  —  anything 
eatable,  and  he  rises  to  it  swiftly.  In  a  few 


hours  he  feels  better,  and  whirls  in  the  current 
334 

and  goes  speeding  back  to  the  sea,  where  the 

galt  water  Destroys  the  parasites  and  heals  his 

wound  and  makes  him  strong  again>  But  he 

will  not  come  back  to  the  river  again  this  year. 

A  half-mile  above  there  is  another  fall, 
higher  than  this  one.  Let  us  go  up,  and 
find  there  the  most  difficult  problem  of  all 
to  answer. 

A  single  glance  at  the  falls  tells  you  in- 
stantly that  they  are  too  high  for  any  salmon 
to  leap.  Other  rivers  with  a  fall  no  higher 
than  this  one  are  barred  to  the  salmon, 
which  run  up  only  as  far  as  the  falls  and 
then  turn  back  to  the  sea,  or  else  spawn 
at  the  mouths  of  shallow  brooks  along  the 
way.  But  the  salmon  in  this  river  go  clear 
to  the  head  waters.  You  can  see  them  jump- 
ing and  catch  a  dozen  above  the  falls.  Here, 
just  below  the  cataract,  they  are  springing 
high  out  of  water,  or  poking  their  heads  out 
of  the  foam,  just  as  they  did  at  the  lower 
falls,  in  order  to  study  the  difficult  place. 

As  you  watch,  a  big  salmon  flashes  up  in 
a  great  arc  and  tumbles  into  the  sheet  of 


falling  water,   not  half-way  up   to   the  top. 

Soon  another  follows  him,  striking  in  the  „ 

same    place.    You    watch    closely    but    see    ^    ,  , 

nothing  more;    they  have  simply  vanished  X 

into  the  falls.    A  dead   salmon    floats   past 

you ;  another  is  gasping  in  a  shallow  eddy ; 

a  third  lies  half  eaten  by  an  otter  under  the 

shelving  bank.    Here  is  a  place,  evidently, 

where  many  fail.  Now 

watch  the  topmost  rim 

of  the  waterfall. 

Ten   minutes    pass 
slowly  while  you  keep 
your  eyes  on  the  line 
where  the  yellow  flood 
breaks  over  the  brim 
of  the  falls.    There !  a 
flash  of   living   silver 
breaks  the  uneven 
line ;  a  broad  tail 
cuts  the  air  in  a 
curving  sweep  as 
a  salmon  plunges 
safely  over  the  •'„.  •-•. 
top  into  the  swift 


water  above.    That  is  probably  the  fish  that 
you  saw  vanish  into  the  falls,  ten  feet  below. 


we  must  f0]]ow  him,  ^  we  are  to  jearn 
anything  more  of  his  methods. 

For  twenty  years  —  ever  since  I  first  fished 
the  Saevogle  —  I  had  wondered  how  it  was 
possible  for  salmon  to  get  up  a  waterfall 
which  was  plainly  impossible  to  leap;  and 
on  reading  the  books  I  found  that  almost 
every  salmon  fisherman  for  two  centuries 
had  puzzled  over  the  same  problem.  Stand- 
ing under  these  falls,  one  day,  and  throwing 
stones  at  the  spots  in  the  falling  sheet  of 
water  where  the  salmon  were  plunging  in, 
it  occurred  to  me  suddenly  that  it  might  be 
possible  to  go  in  myself  and  find  out  what 
they  were  doing.  On  two  rivers  I  had  tried 
it  unsuccessfully,  and  though  I  had  glimpses 
of  salmon  lying  on  the  wet  rocks  inside  the 
falls,  I  was  almost  swept  away  in  the  cata- 
ract. Here  the  task  proved  unexpectedly 
easy;  for  on  one  side  the  swift  flood  shot 
far  out  from  the  face  of  the  rock,  and  the 
falling  sheet  of  water  was  not  heavy  enough 
to  knock  one  off  his  feet.  So,  if  you  don't 


mind  a  soaking,  —  which  will  do  no  harm 
here  in  the  deep  wilderness,  where  there 
are  no  microbes  to  give  you  a  cold,  —  let 
us  after  our  salmon. 

With  rubber  coats  falling  down  over  wad- 
ers, we  slip  through  and  under  the  edge  of 
the  broad  sheet  of  falling  water  and  stand 
close  against  the  rocky  wall.  It  is  cool  and 
wet  here;  the  hollows  in  the  rough  face  of 
the  rock  are  brimming  over;  the  air  is  full 
of  heavy  mist;  but  the  flood  pours  over 
our  heads  without  touching  us.  A 
salmon  is  kicking  violently  among 
the  stones,  and  you  brush  him  with 
your  foot  out  into  the  cataract.  As 
we  move  along  to  the  middle  of  the 
stream,  pressing  close  against 
the  wall,  with  the  thunder  of 
the  falls  pouring  over  us 
harmlessly,  we  come  sud- 
denly upon  salmon  every- 
where :  on  the  stones,  in 
deep  hollows  of  the  rock, 
struggling  up  the  scarred 
and  pitted  face  of  the  cliff 


337 

Mtere  Jfie 
Salmon  Jump 


itself.    Push  on  a  little  farther,  and  now  you 
^_  see  a  great  crevice  slanting  diagonally  up  the 

tr/tere  ine  wall  almost  to  the  brim  Of  the  fall  over  your 
head   A  thin  stream  of  water  runs  through 

it,  making  a  fall  within  a  fall.  This  crevice 
is  full  of  salmon ;  some  dead,  some  lying  and 
resting  quietly  in  the  hollows,  others  kicking, 
flapping,  sliding  upward  over  the  wet  stone 
and  the  slippery  bodies  of  their  fellows  to  the 
life  above. 

Your  first  visit  may  solve  the  problem, 
for  this  river  at  least;  or  you  may  have  to 
return  again  and  again  before  you  see  the 
thing  accomplished  from  beginning  to  end. 
This  is  the  time,  for  the  river  is  just  begin- 
ning to  rise  after  the  rains,  and  great  runs  of 
salmon  are  moving  up  from  the  pools  below; 
while  those  that  were  here,  resting  below 
the  falls  for  the  great  effort,  feel  the  on- 
ward movement  and  start  upward  to  the 
spawning-grounds  at  the  head  of  the  river. 

As  you  stand  here  salmon  after  salmon 
comes  flying  in  through  the  falling  sheet 
of  white  water.  Some  strike  fair  against 
the  wall,  rebound,  and  are  swept  away  like 


smoke;   others,  as   if  they  knew  the   spot, 
plunge  into  a  wet  hollow,   rest  an  instant 


from  the  shock,  then  wriggle  and   leap  to 

the  hollows  above.    Here  is  one  that  dashes  5d/mOf}  Jump 

in  and  lights  fairly  in  the  great  crevice  at 

your  shoulder,  on  the  bodies  of  three  or  four 

other  salmon  that  are  lying  there  gasping  and 

struggling  feebly.    In  an  instant  his  broad  tail 

is  threshing  violently,  pushing  him  upward  in 

desperate  flappings  and  wrigglings,  up  over 

the  rock,  over  the  bodies  of  his  fellows  ;  rest- 

ing here,  leaping  boldly  there  over  a  little 

ridge,  up  and  up,  till  with  one  last  effort  he 

plunges  over  the  brim  and  is  gone. 

However  it  may  be  on  other  rivers,  the 
problem  here  is  an  amazingly  simple  one. 
The  salmon  simply  leap  into  the  falls,  trust- 
ing to  luck  or  instinct,  or  more  probably  to 
knowledge  gained  from  previous  experience, 
to  break  through  the  sheet  of  falling  water 
and  land  in  one  of  the  numerous  hollows 
or  crevices  in  the  face  of  the  rock.  Then, 
if  not  stunned  or  swept  away  in  the  first 
effort,  they  struggle  up  the  side  of  the  rock 
itself,  and  over  the  bodies  of  their  less 


successful  fellows,  till   near  enough    to  the 

340 

top  to  leap  over. 

Wftere  ffie  j  as  indeed  in  most  falls>  one  may 


notice  a  curious  rhythmic  movement  of  the 
water.  It  rarely  pours  over  the  falls  in  an 
even  flood,  but  rather  in  a  succession  of 
spurts,  with  slower  and  lighter  movements 
between;  so  that,  both  by  eye  and  ear,  one 
gets  the  impression  of  throbbing  in  the  water's 
movement,  as  if  the  river  were  only  one  of 
many  arteries,  and  somewhere  behind  them 
all  a  great  heart  were  beating  and  driving 
the  waters  onward  in  slow,  regular,  mighty 
pulsations.  Undoubtedly  the  salmon  make 
use  of  this  fact,  resting  near  the  top  of  the 
rock  for  a  slower  and  lighter  movement  of 
the  wate/,  when  they  throw  themselves  over 
the  brim  of  the  falls  and  so  avoid  being  swept 
away  after  accomplishing  the  most  difficult 
and  dangerous  part  of  their  journey. 

Desperate  as  it  is,  this  is  probably  the 
method  used  on  other  rivers  where  salmon 
surmount  a  waterfall  which  is  plainly  too 
high  to  leap.  Dr.  Elwood  Worcester,  of  Bos- 
ton, writes  me  that  while  salmon  fishing  on 


White  Bay  his  guides  told  him  of  a  place 
where  the  salmon  climbed  the  cliff  behind 
a  fall,  and  where  the  fishermen  collected 
barrels  of  fish  for  winter  use  every  season. 
He  went  with  them  behind  the  fall,  and 
watched  for  hours  as  the  salmon  plunged  in 
and  then  began  the  almost  impossible  task 
of  leaping  up  the  rock.  There,  as  here,  only 
a  fraction  of  the  struggling  fish  ever  reached 
the  top.  Some  of  the  unsuccessful  ones 
tried  again;  others  sped  away  to  heal  their 
wounds ;  the  rest  lay  quiet  among  the  rocks 
awaiting  the  poor  fishermen,  or  floated  away 
to  feed  the  mink  and  the  eagle.  Nature 
called  the  many  in  order  to  choose  a  few, 
and  the  whole  process  was  accompanied  by 
that  apparent  waste  and  perfect  economy 
with  which  Nature  always  accomplishes  her 
object. 

As  we  go  down-stream  and  take  up  our 
position  on  the  flat  rock  again,  a  heavy 
plunge  out  on  the  edge  of  the  white  current 
shows  that  our  big  salmon  is  still  there  and 
in  a  rising  mood.  He  will  take  our  fly  now; 
and  the  rest  is  a  matter  of  skill,  with  a  large 


342 

ffte 


element  of  luck,  which  is  all  in  the  salmon's 
favor.  But  our  glimpse  under  the  falls  has 
aroused  a  new  interest  in  the  hidden  life  of 
the  big  fish,  resting  and  playing  there  in  the 
turmoil ;  so  let  us  hear  his  story  before  we 
catch  him. 


343 


2      ~« 

rt>c£-^ 

ONE  late  autumn,  a  few  years  ago,  a  big 
salmon  came  up  to  the  head  waters  of 
the  river  and  sought  out  a  place  for  herself 
where  she  might  hide  her  eggs.  All  sum- 
mer long  she  had  journeyed  slowly  up  the 
river,  resting  below  the  falls  and  rapids  to 
gather  her  strength,  and  choosing  the  bright 
moonlit  nights  to  hurry  up  through  the  rif- 
fles, where  Moo  ween  the  bear  was  waiting 
to  catch  her  as  she  passed.  Now,  with  most 
of  the  danger  and  all  the  effort  behind  her, 
she  came  straight  to  the  shallows  at  the 
mouth  of  a  cold  brook  where  the  bottcm 

345 


346 


was  covered  with  sand  and  yellow  pebbles. 
Where  the  current  rippled  evenly  over  its 

Tne  ofory  bed  of  golden  gravel  she  found  the  place  she 

was  seeking, and  like  fish-hawks  returning  in 
the  spring,  her  first  care  was  to  repair  the 
nest  that  had  been  used  for  centuries  by 
other  salmon.  Her  broad  tail  fanned  away 
the  coating  of  mud  that  had  settled  over  the 
pebbles,  and  the  current  swept  it  away  down- 
stream. Bits  of  rotten  wood  and  twigs  and 
leaves  that  had  jammed  among  the  stones 
she  took  up  in  her  mouth  and  carried  to  one 
side,  leaving  the  rest  all  white  and  clean.  As 
she  worked  a  great  male  fish,  with  a  kipper 
hook  on  his  lower  jaw,  came  surging  up  and 
chose  her  for  his  mate,  and  then  began  cir- 
cling about  her,  fighting  the  other  salmon 
and  chasing  away  the  trout  that  swarmed 
hungrily  about,  waiting  for  the  feast  of 
salmon  eggs  that  was  to  follow. 

When  the  nest  was  at  last  ready,  the 
big  male  fish  came  and  plowed  long  fur- 
rows through  it  with  the  beak  that  had  been 
growing  on  the  point  of  his  lower  jaw  for 
this  purpose  ever  since  he  entered  fresh 


347 


water.    These    furrows    were    fanned    clean 

with  tails  and  fins,  and  then  his  mate  set-   ^- 

tling  upon  the   nest   began   depositing   her  - ' 

eggs,  thousands  and  thousands  of  them;  so 

many  that,  had  they  all  hatched  and  grown, 

the  river  must  have  been  full  of  salmon. 

That  was  a  busy  time  for  the  old  male 
with  the  hooked  jaw.  As  the  eggs  were  laid 
he  covered  them  hurriedly  with  gravel  to 
keep  the  current  from  washing  them  away, 
and  to  hide  them  from  the  little  trout  and 
parrs  that  flashed  about  like  sunbeams,  and 
that,  spite  of  his  fierce  snaps  and  rushes, 
would  dart  in  to  grab  a  mouthful  and  scud 
away  to  eat  it  under  the  banks  or  stones 
where  he  could  not  follow  them.  At  times 
the  little  bandits  seemed  to  hunt  in  packs,  .. 
like  wolves;  and  while  the  big  salmon  was 
chasing  one  of  their  number,  the  others 
would  flash  in  and  gobble  up  all  the  uncov- 
ered tidbits.  They  would  even  steal  under 
the  mother  salmon  and  snatch  away  the 
eggs  as  they  were  laid,  till  the  old  male 
came  surging  back  and  scattered  them  like 
a  puff  of  smoke  into  their  unseen  dens. 


343 

The  Sfory 


At  last,  however,  the  eggs  were  all  laid, 
and  covered  up  safely  where  even  the  parrs 
could  not  find  them ;  and  spite  of  all  losses, 
there  were  thousands  enough  left  in  every 
nest  to  warrant  a  full  supply  of  young  salmon. 
Then  scores  of  the  great  fish,  which  had 
grown  lank  and  dingy  and  faint  from  their 
five  months'  fast  and  their  tremendous  efforts 
in  running  up  the  river,  rested  awhile,  lying 
like  logs  over  all  the  shallows,  until  the  nights 
grew  intensely  still  and  over  the  quiet  pools 
the  ice  began  to  tinkle  its  winter  warning. 
A  subtle  command  ran  along  the  river,  which 
our  salmon,  like  all  other  fish,  seemed  to 
obey  without  knowing  why  or  how  they  did 
so.  One  morning  they  all  turned  in  the  cur- 
rent at  the  same  moment  and  went  speeding 
back  to  the  sea,  leaving  to  the  little  brook 
the  task  of  hatching  their  offspring.  And 
the  little  brook,  which  was  used  to  such 
things,  at  once  took  up  the  work,  singing  to 
itself  the  same  glad  little  song  that  it  had 
crooned  for  a  thousand  years  over  the  hid- 
den cradles  of  all  the  young  salmon  it  had 
ever  brooded. 


The  winter  passed  slowly ;  a  current  of 
fresh  water  passed  continually  over  the  hid- 
den treasures;  and  when  the  ice  broke  up 
in  the  spring  there  was  a  general  breaking 
up  down  among  the  eggs  in  the  gravel  nest. 
Something  stirred  vigorously  within  an  egg 
lodged  between  two  white  pebbles ;  the  cov- 
ering broke  and  out  glided  Kopseep,  a  tiny 
male  salmon.  Beginning  his  life  with  hun- 
ger, he  had  first  eaten  all  that  was  left  in  the 
egg  besides  himself,  and  was  nibbling  at  the 
shell  when  it  broke  and  let  him  out.  In  an 
instant,  following  his  instinct,  he  had  settled 
in  the  tiny  eddy  behind  one  of  the  pebbles 
that  had  sheltered  him.  As  the  egg  covering 
wavered  on  his  tail  he  whirled  like  a  wink 
and  swallowed  it.  Then  he  settled  behind 
his  pebble  again  and  took  his  first  look  at 
the  world. 

All  around  him  the  tiny  salmon  were 
making  their  way  out  of  the  nest.  As  they 
emerged  the  current  seemed  to  sweep  them 
away  like  mist;  but  in  reality  each  one 
darted  for  the  nearest  stone  or  cover,  and 
vanished  as  if  the  bed  of  the  river  had  opened 


349 

TfieSfory 
Mopseep 


350 

The  Story 


to  swallow  him.  Quick  as  they  were,  a  score 
of  them  were  seized  by  the  hungry  little  trout 
and  parrs  that  swarmed  in  the  shallows,  each 
one  hiding  under  a  stone  and  watching  like 
a  hawk  for  food.  But  Kopseep  was  safe  un- 
der a  root,  whither  he  had  darted  from  the 
shelter  of  his  first  pebble,  and  his  struggle 
with  the  world  had  begun. 

For  a  year  he  lived  in  the  shallows  as  a 
little  parr,  hiding  from  his  enemies  and  eat- 
ing of  the  insect  life  that  swarmed  in  the 
water.  Then,  as  he  grew  in  strength  and 
quickness,  he  took  to  chasing  and  catching 
the  tiny  eels  that  squirmed  in  the  mud  un- 
der the  still  reaches  of  the  brook,  and  would 
flash  up  from  the  bottom  and  out  into  the 
sunshine  to  catch  and  pull  down  a  passing 
fly.  After  every  sortie  he  would  whirl  and 
dart  like  a  sunbeam  under  his  root  again. 
No  need  to  look  for  enemies ;  they  were  all 
about  him,  and  he  always  took  it  for  granted 
that  they  were  waiting  to  catch  him,  and 
that  his  safety  lay  in  getting  back  to  the  cover 
of  his  own  den  before  they  had  noticed  his 
movements. 


Occasionally,  spite  of  his  lightning  dash,  a 
little  trout  would  spy  him  and  dart  between 
him  and  his  sheltering  root ;  and  then  Kop- 
seep  would  make  use  of  a  trick  which  every 
little  salmon  seems  to  know  by  instinct.  He 
would  dart  away,  with  the  troutlet  after  him, 
to  where  the  bottom  was  softest  and  whirl  up 
a  muddy  cloud  into  which  his  enemy  dashed 
headlong.  Then,  before  the  troutlet  could 
find  him,  Kopseep  was  hidden  under  an  inch 
of  soft  mud ;  or  else,  fearing  the  big  eels,  he 
would  scoot  back  under  cover  of  the  muddy 
screen  to  his  own  root,  whither  no  enemy 
ever  followed  him. 

As  for  the  troutlet,  he  had  speedily  his 
own  troubles  to  attend  to.  Besides  the  larger 
fish,  which  always  chased  all  smaller  ones 
that  dared  show  themselves  in  open  water, 
the  mink  was  gliding  in  and  out  like  a 
shadow.  Kingfishers  dropped  in  like  plum- 
mets, getting  a  fish  at  almost  every  plunge; 
and  the  sheldrakes,  that  had  a  nest  just  above, 
were  frightfully  destructive,  eating  scores  of 
trout  in  every  day's  fishing.  So  the  troutlet, 
after  one  confused  instant  in  the  mud  cloud, 


TfieSfory 


352 

Tfie  Sfor 


would  forget  our  little  samlet  and  flash  away 
to  his  own  den,  thankful  if  he  had  himself 
escaped  being  seen  and  chased  while  he  was 
chasing  somebody  else. 

In  the  midst  of  all  these  dangers  the  parr 
lived  and  throve  mightily,  and  if  one  can 
judge  from  his  play,  —  for  he  had  already 
begun  to  leap  out  of  still  water  and  tumble 
back  with  resounding  splash  in  the  quiet 
afternoons,  —  he  reveled  in  the  strength  and 
gladness  of  life  and  in  the  abundance  of  good 
things  to  be  had  for  the  chasing.  In  his  first 
autumn  the  big  salmon  appeared  again  in 
the  shallows  to  spawn,  and  Kopseep  joined 
his  fellows  in  scooting  about  and  stealing 
the  eggs  whenever  the  big  male  with  the 
hooked  jaw  was  occupied  in  covering  the 
furrows  or  chasing  away  the  horde  of  active 
little  robbers  that  swarmed  about  him. 

Kopseep  was  now  nearly  six  inches  long, 
having  increased  a  hundredfold  in  weight  in 
a  few  months.  Catching  a  glimpse  of  him 
as  he  flung  himself  out  of  water  in  vigorous 
play,  you  would  have  seen  a  beautiful  little 
creature,  his  eyes  bright  as  stars,  his  gleaming 


sides  sprinkled  with  bright  vermilion  spots 
and  crossed  with  the  dark  blue  bars  or 
finger-marks  which  indicate  the  parr  state, 
and  with  exquisite  pearly  shells  covering 
the  deep  red  gills  on  either  side.  A  trout, 
you  might  have  said,  as  he  rose  like  a  flash 
to  your  fly;  but  another  look  would  have 
told  you  plainly  that  he  was  more  graceful 
and  powerful,  and  likewise  much  more  beau- 
tiful, than  any  trout  that  ever  came  out  of 
the  water. 

All  winter  long  he  lay  by  his  den,  seeking 
little  food  and  growing  strangely  lazy.  When 
spring  came  a  curious  change  crept  over 
him.  When  he  ventured  into  still  water  and 
looked  in  the  wonderful  mirror  there  (which 
was  the  under  surface  of  the  pool,  and  which 
you  can  see  yourself  by  looking  up  obliquely 
into  a  glass  of  water),  he  saw  that  all  his 
beautiful  blue  bars  and  vermilion  spots  were 
slowly  disappearing,  being  covered  up  by  a 
new  growth  of  silver  scales.  By  the  middle 
of  May  the  new  scales  had  covered  all  his 
body.  A  curious  uneasiness  filled  him  as 
Nature  whispered  that  the  new  suit  she  had 


353 

Tfie Story 


given  him  was  for  a  new  life,  and  at  the 
%  word  Kopseep  turned  tail  to  the  current  and 
went  Speeciing  down  the  river,  where  he  had 
never  been  before.  He  was  a  smolt  now,  and 
all  his  brothers  from  the  same  nest  were 
speeding  down  the  river  with  him,  leaving 
their  sisters,  still  in  their  bright  parr  coats, 
playing  and  feeding  about  the  shallows  where 
they  were  born. 

It  was  a  wonderful  journey  for  our  little 
smolt, —  the  more  so  because  he  had  never 
before  ventured  away  from  the  home  brookv 
and  he  knew  not  why  he  went  nor  whither 
he  was  going  on  the  long  rushing  migration. 
Down,  down  he  hurried,  now  shooting  eas- 
ily through  the  dancing  riffles,  now  whirled 
along  the  rush  and  tumble  of  a  boiling  rapid, 
and  now  caught  up  with  irresistible  force 
and  hurled  outward  into  a  white  chaos  where 
all  his  universe  seemed  to  be  falling  blindly 
into  space  that  roared  and  trembled  beneath 
him.  But  always  his  first  instinct  to  keep 
close  to  bottom  was  with  him,  and  even  in 
the  worst  of  rapids  a  turn  of  his  tail  would 
send  him  down  to  where  the  water  eddied 


355 

7ft  e  Sfory 
ifKopseep 


and  rolled  leisurely  among  the  stones,  while 
the  rush  and  uproar  went  on  harmlessly 
overhead.  And  everywhere  he  went  he  had 
a  sense  of  comradeship,  of  hosts  that  w^ere 
moving  onward  with  him  to  the  same  end; 
for  the  river  was  full  of  smolts,  gliding, 
dodging,  flashing  like  silver  everywhere  in 
the  cool  dark  eddies,  and  all  moving  swiftly 
downward  to  the  sea. 

So  they  passed  from  the  hills  to  the  low 
marsh  lands  and  lakes;  and  here  they  met 
shoals  of  great  silver  fish,  their  own  mothers, 
beginning  their  long  journey  upward  to  the 
shallows  which  the  smolts  had  just  left  be- 
hind them. 

A  new  flavor  came  into  the  water  as  they 
followed  the  slow  current.    It  was  the  taste  of      \J^Xw 
the  sea,  and  a  great  thrill  and  tingle  passed          \      \     /I 
through  the  shoal  of  smolts,  making  them  0        ^/ 

leap  for  joy  and  dash  onward,  down  through        ^       J 
the  first  gentle  surges  of  the  tide,  down  faster         i/?^ 
and  faster,  till   they  scattered  suddenly  and 
hid  as  another  shoal  of  great  salmon  flashed 
into  sight,  with  a  score  of  seals  darting  and 
twisting    after    them    like    so    many   black 


i^ 


demons.  Over  the  hidden  smolts  passed  the 
chase,  like  the  rush  of  a  tornado;  then  the 
little  fellows  darted  out  of  their  hiding  and 
quivered  onward  till  they  passed  deep  under 
the  surge  and  thunder  of  the  breakers  and 
vanished  into  the  cool  green  forests  of  kelp 
and  seaweed  that  waved  their  soft  arms  every- 
where on  the  ocean's  floor,  beckoning  the 
frightened  little  wanderers  to  rest  and  safety. 

Here  they  waited  a  few  days  and  fed 
abundantly,  and  looked  out  with  wonder  from 
their  green  coverts,  as  from  a  window-,  at 
the  strange  new  life  that  passed  by  them, — 
hermit-crabs  and  starfish  and  sea-robins  and 
skates  and  stingarees  and  lobsters  and  dol- 
phins and  Peter  Grunters,  —  all  with  some 
outlandish  peculiarity,  or  some  queer,  crazy 
way  of  flitting  about,  like  dwarfs  or  hob- 
goblins ;  so  that  every  day  Wonderland  itself 
seemed  to  pass  in  procession  before  their 
windows.  But  the  fever  of  migration  was  still 
upon  them,  and  soon  the  shoal  was  moving 
onward  more  eagerly  than  before. 

New  dangers  met  them  with  every  mile. 
Strange  and  savage  monsters  with  goggle 


eyes  and  stickle  backs  and  huge  gaping 
mouths  surged  out  at  them  from  coverts  of 
rock  and  kale  and  sea-moss;  and  from  the 
bottom  itself,  where  they  looked  like  bits  of 
innocent  mud,  flatfish  and  flounders  leaped 
up  into  the  very  midst  of  the  passing  shoal. 
But  their  life  in  the  quick  waters  of  the 
brooks  had  made  these  little  smolts  like 
bundles  of  tempered  steel  springs.  They 
were  quicker  far  than  the  big  savage  ban- 
dits that  looked  so  much  more  dangerous 
than  they  really  were ;  and  our  own  little 
smolt  found  no  difficulty  in  dodging  them 
and  hiding  under  a  frond  of  kelp  till  they 
had  surged  by.  So  the  shoal  passed  on,  still 
following  the  almost  imperceptible  flavor  of 
their  own  river,  till  they  were  nearly  twenty 
miles  out  at  sea,  and  up  from  the  bottom 
rose  a  ridge  of  rocky  hills  covered  with  wav- 
ing sea  growth.  Here  the  fever  suddenly  left 
them  and  the  shoal  scattered,  each  to  his  own 
little  den,  just  as  they  had  done  in  the  shal- 
lows far  away  in  the  green  wilderness. 

A  new  and  wonderful  life  had  begun  for 
Kopseep,  and  the  very  best  thing  about  it 


357 

The  Story 


j/Iu  sJiUJjf 


was  the   abundance  of  good   things  to  eat. 
*        Millions    of   minute    Crustacea,    tender   and 


deiiciOUS)  would  swarm  at  times  over  his  den, 

fillinS  the  water  ful1  of  food  and  coloring  it 
bright  pink,  like  a  tomato  soup.  He  had  only 

to  swim  lazily  through  it  once  or  twice  with 
his  mouth  open  and  come  back  gorged  to 
his  den,  as  if  he  had  been  swimming  around 
in  a  rich  pudding.  In  an  hour  he  was  hun- 
gry and  would  roll  up  through  his  strange 
food  bath,  filling  himself  again  and  again  till 
the  swarm  passed  on  with  the  tides.  Then, 
led  by  his  perpetual  hunger,  he  passed  over 
the  rocky  ridge  to  where  the  ocean's  floor 
slanted  upward  and  spread  out  into  broad 
level  plains.  Here  the  cod  had  laid  their 
eggs  in  uncounted  millions,  and  the  codlings 
covered  the  place  like  flies  on  a  butcher's 
block.  The  little  gourmand  would  stuff  him- 
self till  the  tails  stuck  out  of  his  mouth; 
then  with  a  wriggle  he  would  spew  them 
out  and  begin  all  over  again,  just  for  the 
delight  of  eating. 

Naturally,  with  all  this  good  feeding,  Kop- 
seep  grew  till   his  skin  almost   cracked   to 


cover  him.  When  he  first  came  to  the 
ocean  he  was  hardly  as  long  as  your  hand, 
and  would  weigh  perhaps  three  ounces.  In 
a  month  he  was  a  strong,  shapely  fish,  a  foot 
long  and  weighing  over  a  pound;  and  his 
appetite,  instead  of  diminishing,  only  grew 
more  and  more  voracious  as  he  increased  in 
weight.  No  more  Crustacea  or  codlings  for 
him  now ;  he  had  himself  joined  the  bandits 
that  had  at  first  frightened  him,  and  was  too 
big  to  be  satisfied  with  such  small  fry.  But 
when  the  shoals  of  brilliant  caplin  passed 
over  him,  making  the  sea  look  as  if  a  rain- 
bow had  broken  into  bits  and  fallen  there, 
his  silver  sides  were  seen  flashing  in  and 
out  among  them.  And  then,  as  he  grew 
bigger  and  the  caplin  passed  on  shoreward 
with  the  tides,  the  herring  came  drifting  in, 
like  great  silver  clouds,  with  the  sea-birds 
screaming  over  them;  and  these  were  the 
best  food  of  all. 

So  three  months  passed  in  the  ocean  and 
our  little  smolt  had  now  become  a  grilse,  or 
"gilsie,"  a  beautiful  fish  of  four  pounds  weight, 
with  his  silver  sides  spotted  like  a  trout; 


359 

The  Story 


360 

The  Story 


only  the  spots  were  large  and  black  instead 
of  being  small  and  red.  As  the  summer 
waned  scores  of  small  salmon  began  to 
move  uneasily  along  the  rocky  ridges  where 
the  grilse  were  hiding.  A  fever  seemed  to 
spread  through  the  water,  and  salmon  and 
grilse  alike  stopped  their  ravenous  feeding. 
One  morning  the  salmon  moved  off  together, 
as  if  at  command,  and  Kopseep  writh  hun- 
dreds of  his  fellow-grilse  followed  them,  the 
fever  of  motion  growing  stronger  and  stronger 
as  they  followed  up  the  well-known  flavor  of 
their  own  river. 

Near  the  shore  they  stopped  for  a  few  days, 
waiting  for  the  tides  of  full  moon;  and  old 
Daddy  Grummet,  who  for  weeks  had  not  seen 
a  salmon,  set  his  nets  again  and  found  them 
each  morning  full  to  overflowing.  Then  when 
the  tide  was  highest  the  shoal  surged  into 
the  river's  mouth,  past  the  rocky  point  where 
the  seals  were  waiting  and  barking  like  hun- 
gry dogs  at  the  smell  of  meat. 

With  a  rush  our  grilse  shot  past  the 
point,  where  the  water  boiled  and  flashed  as 
the  shoal  doubled  away  from  their  savage 


enemies.  A  lively  young  seal  plunged  after 
Kopseep ;  but  the  grilse  was  too  quick,  and 
the  seal  turned  aside  after  a  large  and  lazier 
fish.  So  he  gained  the  fresh  water  safely, 
and  journeyed  swriftly  upward  through  the 
lakes,  jumping  and  playing  in  his  strength, 
till  he  came  to  the  first  swift  run  of  water 
below  the  little  falls.  Here  he  put  his  nose 
\iown  in  an  eddy  behind  a  sunken  rock,  and 
caught  the  current  on  his  fins  and  tail  in 
such  a  way  as  to  hold  himself  in  place  with- 
out conscious  effort,  resting  for  his  first  leap 
and  for  the  hard  rush  through  the  rapids 
above  the  falls. 

While  he  waited  here  Kopseep  felt  his 
stomach  shrinking  within  him.  There  were 
fish  in  the  river,  —  minnows  and  trout  and 
eels,  and  lazy  chub  that  the  mink  and  fish- 
hawk  were  catching, —  but  Kopseep  watched 
them  indifferently  and  suffered  them  to  go 
their  own  ways  unmolested.  Strangely  enough 
all  his  voracious  appetite  of  the  past  few 
months  had  left  him  —  and  lucky  it  was  too ; 
for  otherwise  a  single  run  of  salmon  would 
destroy  every  trout  and  frog  and  little  fish 


TheSfory 
if  Kopseep 

s^   _  ^>  *    r^^t »  * 


in  the  river.  And  that  is  perhaps  why 
Nature  takes  away  the  salmon's  appetite 
and  keeps  it  for  him  all  the  while  that  he 
is  going  on  a  journey  in  fresh  water. 

As  he  lay  in  his  eddy  resting,  or  play- 
ing with  any  bright-colored  thing  that  the 
current  brought  him,  a  troop  of  little  silver 
smolts  went  hurrying  and  flashing  by  on 
their  way  to  the  sea.  Though  he  knew  it« 
not,  they  were  the  little  sisters  that  he  had 
left  as  parr  in  the  shallows  when  he  went 
away,  four  months  ago.  No  wonder  Kop- 
seep  did  not  recognize  them ;  for  they  were 
hardly  as  big  as  the  caplin  that  he  had  been 
eating  by  scores  for  weeks  past.  He  watched 
them  curiously  as  they  darted  past,  wonder- 
ing where  they  came  from  and  why  they 
hurried  so;  then  he  moved  up  under  the 
falls  and  began  to  jump  and  poke  his  head 
out  of  the  foam  to  study  the  place,  as  the 
salmon  were  doing,  before  he  took  his  leap. 

He  tried  it  at  last :  flung  himself  headlong 
into  the  falls  and  was  promptly  knocked  end 
over  end,  and  in  a  wink  found  himself  bruised 
and  quivering  back  by  his  own  rock  again. 


That  seemed  to  teach  him  wisdom;  for  at 
the  next  attempt  he  shot  through  a  black 
eddy  from  which  all  the  salmon  took  their 
leap,  flung  himself  upward  in  a  glorious  arc, 
struck  fair  in  the  swift  water  above  the  falls, 
and  in  an  instant  was  flashing  and  plunging 
up  through  the  rapids.  Not  till  he  reached 
a  great  pool  two  or  three  miles  above  did  he 
halt,  and  then  he  settled  down  in  another 
eddy  to  rest  for  his  next  effort. 

So  he  journeyed  upwards  for  nearly  two 
months,  tarrying  below  the  worst  rapids  for 
a  fall  of  water,  and  waiting  for  the  rains 
wherever  the  river  spread  into  broad  shal- 
lows that  hardly  covered  the  salmon  as  they 
wriggled  and  splashed  their  way  upward. 
Here,  one  moonlit  night,  something  like  a 
black  stump  stood  squarely  athwart  Kop- 
seep's  path.  He  was  splashing  his  way 
toward  it  when  a  sudden  alarm  made  him 
halt  behind  a  rock.  A  heedless  fat  salmon 
went  lumbering  by;  the  stump  suddenly 
started  into  life;  then  the  fat  salmon  went 
flying  out  on  shore  from  the  sweep  of  a  paw, 
and  Mooween  the  bear  went  humping  and 


363 

TheSfo/y 


y//€r  «JVC/Yjy 


jumping  after  him  to  catch  him  before  he 
could  scramble  back  into  the  river. 

That  was  enough  for  our  grilse.  Ever 
afterwards  when  he  saw,  on  moonlit  nights, 
a  black  rock  or  stump  in  the  shallows,  he 
watched  awhile  to  see  if  it  moved,  before  go- 
ing through  the  dangerous  place.  And  this 
is  the  test  which  all  salmon  and  trout  apply 
to  every  suspicious  object  :  if  it  moves,  it  is 
dangerous,  whether  on  land  or  water.  That 
is  why  you  catch  only  flashing  glimpses  of 
them  as  you  walk  along  the  bank;  while 
on  the  other  hand,  if  you  sit  very  still  on  a 
rock  in  the  salmon  pool  and  trail  your  toe  or 
finger  or  a  single  leaf  in  the  current,  you 
may  see  a  big  salmon  move  up  to  examine 
it  leisurely;  and  sometimes  he  will  spatter 
water  all  over  you  as  he  plunges  at  the 
object  in  play  and  whirls  back  to  his  eddy 
again. 

Late  in  October  Kopseep  found  himself 
once  more  on  the  shallows  at  the  mouth  of  the 
brook  where  he  was  born.  He  went  straight 
to  the  root  under  which  he  used  to  hide;  but 
the  familiar  place  was  grown  so  small  that 


'  As  if  it  were  his  own  shadow  that  he  wa 
trying  to  escape  " 


his  head  would  not  go  into  it ;  and  the  eddy 
there  that  used  to  hold  him  securely  was  now 
of  no'  consequence  whatever.  So  he  took 
to  cruising  leisurely  around  the  tiny  world 
that  had  once  seemed  to  him  so  big  and  full 
of  danger.  Danger?  why,  this  was  a  place 
of  absolute  peace  compared  with  the  dragon- 
haunted  green  forests  under  the  sea.  He  was 
so  big  now  that  — 

A  thrill  tingled  all  through  Kopseep  as  he 
darted  aside,  making  the  shallow  water  roll 
and  bubble,  and  whirled  and  doubled  madly, 
and  flashed  in  and  out  of  the  startled  river 
with  a  long,  black,  snaky  wake  doubling  after 
him,  as  if  it  were  his  own  shadow  that  he 
was  trying  to  escape.  Like  a  flash  he  rose 
and  leaped  back,  a  clear  eight  feet,  over  the 
shadow,  which  doubled  swiftly  and  seized 
another  grilse  that  was  plowing  furrows  in 
a  gravel  nest.  Out  of  the  troubled  waters 
slid  first  the  head,  then  the  long  back  and 
tail  of  an  otter,  which  climbed  the  bank  and 
stood  mewing  over  her  catch.  Two  more 
shadows  glided  into  the  river  at  her  call, 
making  our  grilse  jump  and  flash  away  and 


367 

The  Story 


hide  again ;  but  the  new-comers  were  only 
two  otter  cubs  that  as  yet  had  learned  to 
catch  onlv  stupid  chub  and  suckers.  In  a 
moment  they  were  out  on  the  bank,  crouched 
with  their  long  backs  arched  like  frightened 
cats,  nibbling  daintily  at  the  salmon;  while 
Kopseep,  forgetting  all  about  them,  roamed 
boldly  over  the  shallows,  looking  for  a  little 
salmon  to  be  his  mate. 

He  found  her  at  last,  preparing  her  nest 
just  below  the  mouth  of  the  brook,  and  began 
circling  watchfully  about  her.  Other  grilse 
were  numerous,  and  in  searching  for  a  mate 
they  would  enter  his  circle  aggressively,  as 
if  it  were  a  chip  that  Kopseep  was  carrying 
on  his  shoulder.  Like  a  flash  he  would  rush 
at  them,  lock  jaws,  and  tug  and  push  and 
bully  them  out  of  the  circle.  Then,  when  he 
returned,  he  had  to  bite  and  gouge  and  drive 
away  the  sea-trout  —  huge  fellows,  some  of 
them,  as  big  as  himself  —  that  swarmed  hun- 
grily about,  waiting  for  the  feast  of  salmon 
eggs. 

It  was  late  autumn;  the  banks  were 
strangely  still  and  white,  and  ice  had  formed 


over  all  the  still  pools  when  Kopseep  turned 
down-stream  again,  leaving  the  eggs  of  his 
mate  safely  covered  in  the  new  nest.  He 
was  like  a  kelt,  or  black  salmon,  now,  —  that 
is,  a  dark  fish  that  has  grown  thin  and  hungry 
from  tarrying  and  fasting  too  long  in  fresh 
water.  Down  he  went,  through  the  rapids 
and  over  the  falls,  in  a  desperate  hurry  that 
made  him  speed  faster  than  the  swift  river, 
which  had  seemed  so  wonderful  on  his  first 
journey  in  the  springtime.  In  a  single  day's 
racing  he  covered  the  entire  distance,  snap- 
ping up  every  little  fish  that  crossed  his  swift 
path,  and  the  next  day  found  him  back  in 
his  clen  in  the  rocky  ridge  under  the  ocean. 
This  was  the  salmon's  own  foraging  ground ; 
and  among  the  multitudes  that  swarmed  there 
Kopseep  saw  numerous  fat  young  grilse, 
almost  as  big  as  himself;  but  he  knew  not 
that  these  were  the  same  little  sisters  that  he 
had  met  coming  down,  and  that  had  changed 
rapidly  from  smolt  to  grilse  while  he  was 
fighting  his  hard  way  up  the  river. 

The  few  rare  fishermen  who  visit  this  part 
of  the  coast  wonder  why  in  this  river  —  and 


369 

TfieSfoiy 
?/ Kopseep 


J 
*/ 


indeed  in  many  others  —  they  catch  only 
male  grilse  ;  but  the  reason  is  probably  a  very 
simple  one.  The  females  pass  the  grilse  state 
in  -the  ocean,  growing  steadily  until  the  fol- 
lowing spring,  when  males  and  females  enter 
the  river  together  as  fully  developed  salmon 
of  eight  or  ten  pounds'  weight. 

All  winter  long  our  young  grilse,  famished 
by  his  long  fasting,  gorged  himself  and  grew 
fat  and  doubled  his  weight.  When  the  May 
moon  drew  near  her  full  the  migratory  fever 
again  ran  along  the  rocky  ridge  under  the 
ocean  ;  for  even  down  there,  in  the  cold  green 
under-world,  Nature  comes  with  the  same 
message  that  sets  the  buds  to  swelling  and 
the  birds  to  singing.  The  largest  salmon  felt 
it  first  and  drifted  away  in  a  dense  shoal,  fol- 
lowing up  the  delicate  flavor  of  their  own  river 
as  a  dog  follows  an  air  scent,  or  else  remem- 
bering, as  a  mule  does,  every  turn  and  wind- 
ing of  the  trail  that  has  once  been  followed. 
A  month  later  Kopseep,  with  hundreds  of 
his  fellows,  moved  leisurely  away  after  them. 

He  was  a  salmon  now,  and  had  to  take 
his  chances  with  the  seals  that  watched  on 


the  point  of  rocks  and  that  neglected  all 
other  fish  when  the  first  run  of  salmon  came 
plunging  in  through  the  breakers.  He  had 
passed  them  safely,  after  a  lively  chase,  and 
was  playing  and  jumping  hilariously  in  the 
pool  at  the  head  of  the  first  lake,  when  a 
curious  accident  sent  him  hurrying  back  to 
the  sea.  And  that  was  only  the  beginning 
of  a  long  chain  of  causes  which  made  him 
bigger  than  all  his  fellows. 

On  the  lake  were  a  pair  of  loons  that  had 
a  nest  on  a  bog  hard  by,  and  that  were  always 
fishing.  Hukweem  was  deep  under  water 
chasing  a  big  trout,  one  day,  which  darted 
into  Kopseep's  pool  and  vanished  under  a 
root.  As  Hukweem  sped  noiselessly  by,  trail- 
ing a  great  string  of  silver  bubbles,  the  wav- 
ing of  a  great  tail  caught  his  eye  just  beyond 
the  root,  and  like  a  flash  he  plunged  at  it, 
driving  his  pointed  bill  deep  into  Kopseep's 
side.  Had  it  been  a  big  trout  the  blow  would 
have  stunned  him  on  the  spot;  but  at  the 
first  touch  the  salmon  tore  himself  free  and 
leaped  clear  of  the  water.  Hukweem  passed 
on,  seeing  his  mistake,  and  the  next  moment 


The  Story 


372 

The  5tory 


Kopseep  was  back  in  the  pool,  fanning  the 
water  quietly  as  if  nothing  whatever  had 
happened. 

Since  entering  fresh  water  Kopseep's 
appetite  had  vanished;  but  now  it  began 
suddenly  to  gnaw  again.  That  was  simply 
Nature's  way  of  telling  him  to  go  back  to 
the  sea,  where  he  might  be  healed.  It  was 
not  the  pain  of  his  wound ;  for,  like  other 
fish,  he  seemed  to  feel  nothing  of  that  kind. 
Had  he  stayed  in  the  fresh  water  the  para- 
sites would  speedily  have  fastened  on  the  raw 
flesh  and  killed  him;  but  of  that  he  knew 
nothing.  He  simply  felt  hungry,  and  remem- 
bered that  in  the  sea  there  was  food  in  abun- 
dance. Salmon  fishermen  have  always  noticed 
how  wounded  fish  suddenly  begin  feeding. 
Sometimes  when  the  wound  is  no  more  than 
the  mark  of  a  net,  which  has  split  a  fin  or 
brushed  off  a  ring  of  scales  around  the  head, 
the  marked  salmon  will  plunge  at  a  fly  more 
vigorously  than  any  of  his  fellows  in  the 
pool,  and  will  even  take  worms  or  a  shiner, 
if  your  sportmanship  allow  you  to  offer  them. 
So  Kopseep,  feeling  only  the  hunger,  —  which 


was  Nature's  simple  direction,  without  her 
explanations,  —  turned  swiftly  back  to  the 
sea,  and  almost  within  the  hour  was  resting 
in  his  old  den  under  the  rocks  again. 

Here  he  stayed  all  summer  long.  While 
other  salmon  moved  off  in  successive  shoals 
and  battled  their  way  up  the  river,  Kopseep, 
whose  migratory  fever  seemed  to  be  cured 
by  the  thrust  of  a  loon's  bill,  gave  himself 
up  to  the  unlimited  abundance  of  the  ocean, 
and  discovered  for  himself,  one  day,  a  new 
and  delicious  food  supply.  It  was  late  in  the 
summer,  after  the  caplin  had  passed  by,  and 
Kopseep,  after  his  wont,  was  gliding  in  and 
out  of  the  green  forest  arches  and  poking 
his  hungry  nose  into  every  den  among 
the  rocks.  In  a  little  arched  doorway  with 
some  waving  green  weeds  for  a  curtain  his 
nose  touched  something  soft,  which  instantly 
shrank  back  closer  to  the  sheltering  rock. 
Kopseep  pulled  it  out  promptly  and  found  a 
small  lobster,  which  was  hiding  there  waiting 
for  his  new  shell  to  grow.  A  delicious  taste, 
the  most  wonderful  he  had  ever  experienced, 
filled  his  mouth  as  he  bolted  the  morsel. 


373 

The  Story 


y£* 


374 


All  excitement,  after  the  manner  of  feeding 
fish,  Kopseep  put  his  nose  into  another  den 
J  and  found  another  lobster,  a  bigger  one, 
that  °ffered  no  resistance  as  he  was  dragged 
out  and  eaten. 

It  was  all  so  different  from  previous  experi- 
ence that  the  salmon  knew  not  what  to  make 
of  it.  He  had  often  passed  lobsters  before, 
crawling  slowly  along  the  bottom  on  the  tip- 
toes of  their  queer  legs,  or  shooting  back- 
ward like  winks  and  hiding  in  the  mud  when 
frightened  by  a  huge  and  hungry  sea-bass. 
Their  shells  were  too  hard  for  Kopseep  to 
think  of  cracking;  and  besides,  each  lobster 
carried  two  pairs  of  big  ugly  jaws  in  front 
of  him  as  he  yew-yawed  along.  These  jaws 
were  always  wide  open, — one  pair  armed  with 
little  teeth  for  catching  and  holding  things, 
and  the  other  with  big  teeth  for  crushing 
whatever  was  caught.  So  Kopseep  had  wisely 
let  the  lobsters  alone,  and  had  no  idea  that 
they  were  good  to  eat.  Now,  however,  the 
hard  shells  had  all  split  along  the  backs, 
and  the  lobsters  left  the  shoal  water  and 
the  fishermen's  lobster-pots  to  seek  out  deep 


hidden  caves  among  the  rocks.  There  they 
crawled  out  of  the  old  shells  and  lay  very 
quiet  in  hiding,  waiting  for  the  new  shells 
to  grow  hard  enough  to  make  it  safe  for 
them  to  venture  into  the  world  once  more. 

It  was  at  this  very  time,  when  the  lobsters 
were  most  defenseless,  that  Kopseep  found 
them.  There  were  hundreds  of  them,  from 
the  size  of  your  hand  up  to  the  big,  shy  fellow 
that  would  fill  a  basket,  each  one  hidden 
away  in  his  own  den;  and  Kopseep  left  all 
other  game  and  took  to  lobster  hunting.  It 
was  a  tingling  kind  of  sport,  gliding  noise- 
lessly with  every  sense  on  the  alert  through 
the  waving  forests  and  over  the  rocks ;  for 
scores  of  hungry  bandits  —  monstrous  sea- 
bass  and  horse-mackerel  and,  worst  of  all, 
dogfish  —  had  taken  advantage  of  the  new 
food  supply  and  were  lurking  in  every  covert, 
ready  to  snap  up  the  salmon  and  other  fish 
that  came  hunting  for  lobsters.  So  Kopseep 
never  knew,  when  he  approached  a  den, 
whether  he  would  find  a  tidbit  for  himself  or 
an  ogre  to  eat  him  up  ;  and  his  hunting  was 
very  much  as  if  you  were  prowling  among 


375 

TfieSfo/y 
if  Kopseep 

N^  ,x^>'*     r^~>  a    * 


376 

7ft e  Story 


the  woods  and  mountain  caves,  expecting 
game  every  moment,  but  not  knowing  whether 
you  would  find  a  rabbit  that  you  wanted,  or 
a  big  grizzly  bear  or  a  dragon  that  might 
want  you. 

His  method  of  hunting  here  never  varied. 
He  would  glide  among  the  waving  green 
fronds,  trying,  as  every  other  wild  creature 
does,  to  see  everything  without  himself  being 
seen,  until  he  spied  a  little  cave  or  den  that 
might  hide  a  soft-shelled  lobster.  Then  he 
would  settle  down  where  the  sea  growth  hid 
him  and  watch  all  the  surroundings  steadily. 
If  nothing  stirred,  and  if  no  suspicious  glint  of 
bronze  or  silver  scales  flickered  in  the  waving 
forest,  he  would  glide  up  and  peer  into  the 
den.  If  the  lobster  were  there,  and  not  too 
big,  he  dragged  him  out  and  ate  him  quickly ; 
but  at  the  first  suspicious  glint  or  movement 
he  would  whirl  like  a  flash,  making  the  deli- 
cate seaweeds  roll  and  quiver  violently  to 
hide  his  flight,  and  the  next  instant  he  was 
fifty  feet  away  and  hidden  so  cunningly  that 
the  big  shark  or  sea-bass  would  drive  straight 
over  his  head  without  seeing  him. 


Once,  as  he  hunted  in  this  way,  he  spied 


a  queer   cave  in   the   rocks  with  gleaming 
white  points  reaching  up  from  the  bottom  <3/Of,y 

and  down  from  the  top,  like  stalactites  and 
stalagmites,  and  with  just  room  enough  for 
him  to  swim  in  between  them,  —  a  perfect 
place,  it  looked,  for  a  nice  soft  lobster  to 
be  hiding.  Kopseep  lay  in  the  weeds  and 
watched  a  few  moments,  then  glided  for- 
ward to  enter.  Just  then  something  began  to 
glow  dull  red  over  the  cave ;  and  in  a  flash 
Kopseep  had  whirled  away,  while  the  long 
weeds  swayed  and  rolled  and  hid  him  as  he 
darted  aside.  In  a  moment  he  was  stealing  -\. 
back  to  watch  the  den  from  another  hiding- 
place.  Suddenly  the  whole  cave  seemed  to 
move  and  tremble.  The  white  points  above 
and  below  came  slowly  together,  and  there  ^ 
was  no  more  an  open  doorway.  Out  from 
the  rocks  glided  a  queer  monster  of  a  mouth- 
fish,  colored  like  the  gray  rocks,  with  dull 
red  eyes  and  a  head  like  a  Chinese  dragon. 
He  looked  around  for  a  moment,  backed  into 
his  lair,  opened  his  huge  mouth,  —  and  there 
was  the  cave  again,  looking  just  like  a  den 


378 


in  the  rocks.    But  Kopseep  was  not  looking 
for  any  more  lobsters  in  that  neighborhood, 
jf/t!  <Jl  ly   ancj  ^  was  a  wjser  ancj  mOre  wary  fish  as 

he  glided  awaY  on  m"s  solitary  hunting. 

So  the  long  summer  passed  by,  and  Kop- 
seep grew  daily  larger  wdth  his  comfortable 
and  lazy  living.  When  his  brothers  and  sisters 
came  down  from  the  river  they  found  him 
more  than  twice  their  size  and  a  full  twenty 
pounds  in  weight.  By  spring  he  had  added 
five  pounds  more,  and  when  the  first  shoal 
of  big  salmon  moved  riverward  with  the  tides 
of  full  moon  Kopseep  was  among  them.  For 
on  this  run,  when  the  river  is  full  and  strong 
with  the  spring  floods,  only  the  largest  fish 
are  equal  to  the  hard  work  of  climbing  the 
falls  and  rapids. 

So  the  years  went  by  with  little  change  in 
Kopseep's  methods  of  living.  Only  he  grew 
bigger  and  bigger,  and  his  long  summer  in 
the  sea  had  made  him  even  more  full  of 
moods  and  whims  than  most  salmon.  Once, 
when  a  flood  had  blocked  the  river 
.  with  logs,  so  that  the  salmon 
.  could  neither  swim 


under  nor  jump  over  the  obstacle,  he  had  gone 
down  the  coast  with  a  few  of  his  fellows  and 
run  up  a  new  stream,  contrary  to  the  habits 
of  all  salmon,  which  in  general  run  up  only 
the  rivers  in  which  they  are  born.  Another 
season,  when  he  was  heavier  and  lazier  than 
usual,  he  had  ascended  the  river  only  as  far 
as  the  first  rapids,  just  above  tide-water. 
There,  with  a  dozen  unusually  large  fish,  he 
spent  a  month  playing  idly  and  sleeping, 
as  salmon  often  do.  And  when  you  hooked 
one  of  these  big  fellows  he  bolted  headlong 
down  the  river,  and  either  smashed  your 
tackle,  or,  if  you  were  quick  enough  to  leap 
into  your  canoe  —  for  they  never  stopped 
or  sulked  like  other  salmon  —  he  took  you 
swiftly  out  through  the  breakers,  and  you 
had  the  rare  experience  of  playing  a  salmon 
in  the  open  sea. 

This  year  Kopseep  has  come  up  leisurely 
as  far  as  the  pool  below  the  falls ;  and  this  is 
as  far  as  he  will  ever  get,  if  our  tackle  holds 
and  he  still  keeps  on  rising  at  pretty  things 
that  the  current  sweeps  over  him.  See !  there 
he  is,  a  monster  salmon,  plunging  out  of  the 


379 

TfieSfory 
if  Kopseep 


380 

Tfie  Story 


white  rips,  just  where  we  left  him  when  we 
sat  down  by  the  river  to  hear  his  story. 

We  have  "rested"  him  long  enough  now, 
and  have  changed  the  number-six  Jock  Scott 
to  a  number-eight  of  the  same  kind;  and  all 
the  while  Kopseep  is  rising  splendidly.  A 
subtile  excitement  creeps  over  you  as  the 
long  line  shoots  out  from  the  springing  tip, 
farther  and  farther,  till  it  falls  straight  across 
the  white  turmoil  below  which  the  salmon  is 
lying.  Swiftly  the  leader  swings  down  and 
straightens  in  the  current ;  the  tiny  fly  whirls 
up  and  dances  for  an  instant  in  the  very 
spot  where  you  saw  Kopseep's  rise.  There ! 
a  swift  rush,  the  flash  of  heavy  shoulders  as 
he  turns  downward.  Don't  strike  now,  as 
you  would  a  trout;  for  the  spring  of  your 
tip  against  the  heavy  plunge  of  that  big  fish 
will  snap  your  leader  as  if  it  were  made 
of  cobweb.  A  ponderous  surge  at  the 
end  of  your  rod,  a  light  pull  to 
set  the  hook  fast;  then  your  heart 
jumps  to  your  mouth,  and  all  your 
nerves  thrill  and  tingle  and  shout 


hilariously  as  your  reel  screams  at  the  first 
terrific  rush.  Out  of  the  river  springs  a  huge 
salmon,  shooting  up  like  a  great  jack-in-a- 
box,  and  tumbles  in  and  jumps  out  again, 
here,  there,  everywhere  at  once,  like  a  rooster 
with  his  head  cut  off.  Away  he  goes,  zzzzim- 
m-m-m  !  leaping  clear  and  throwing  himself 
broadside  across  ten  feet  of  white  water,  shak- 
ing his  head  like  a  dog  with  a  woodchuck; 
and  then  a  headlong  rush  and  tumble  down 
the  first  rapids  with  the  reel  screaming  shrill 
defiance  after  him  at  every  plunge. 

Noel  has  started  to  his  feet  at  the  first 
rush  and  reaches  instinctively  for  the  long 
gaff.  "  Py  cosh !  oh,  py  cosh,  beeg  one !  "  he 
says,  staring  open-mouthed  at  the  torrent, 
not  knowing  where  Kopseep  will  come  up 
next.  Then  he  settles  back  and  fills  his  pipe, 
knowing  well  that  a  half-hour  of  delicate, 
skillful  work  must  follow  before  you  will  get 
any  glimpse  of  the  big  fish  other  than  what 
he  chooses  to  give  you  by  leaping  clear  of 
the  water,  trying  to  strike  the  line  with  his 
tail,  or  to  shake  himself  free  of  the  torment- 
ing little  thing  that  plucks  him  by  the  jaw 


The  Story 


77>f>  Sforv 

'  J 


and  that  holds  on  spite  of  all  his  shaking 

and  JumPins- 

He  is  down  in  the  pool  below  now,  resting 

for  an  instant  in  the  eddY  under  a  big  rock- 
Three  fourths  of  your  line  is  already  out  of 
the  reel,  and  if  he  makes  another  rush  down- 
stream you  must  lose  him.  Down  you  go, 
lively  !  Scrambling  over  the  rocks,  flounder- 
ing through  the  water,  slipping,  sliding,  stum- 
bling, down  you  go  ;  all  the  while  with  your 
rod  up  and  bent  to  keep  a  strain  on  the  fish, 
and  with  the  reel  singing  its  rhythmic  zum, 
zum,  zum,  as  you  hurriedly  gather  in  the  line. 
Get  below  your  salmon  now,  and  stay  be- 
low him  if  you  possibly  can;  for  then  he 
will  have  to  fight  against  the  current  as  well 
as  against  the  spring  of  your  rod.  As  you 
carry  out  the  cunning  maneuver  Kopseep 
starts  off  in  another  series  of  wild  leaps 
and  rushes,  swings  wide  across  the  river,  and 
again  darts  below  you.  He  lies  quiet  in  one 
deep  spot  where  the  pull  of  your  rod  will  just 
balance  the  push  of  the  current.  The  line 
stands  straight  up,  humming  steadily,  while 
a  spurt  of  white  water  curls  up  beside  it. 


All  the  while  you  feel  a  steady  succession 
of  harsh  tugs  and  jerks  that  threaten  every 
instant  to  part  your  tackle. 

Kopseep  is  jigging;  and  that  means  that 
he  is  hooked  —  and  probably  lightly  —  in 
the  lip,  rather  than  in  the  mouth  or  tongue; 
and  that  you  must  be  extra  careful  if  you 
expect  to  get  him.  Could  you  see  him  now, 
you  would  find  that  he  is  standing  fair  on 
his  head  in  the  current,  darting  his  jaw 
with  rapid  jerks  against  the  bottom,  try- 
ing to  scrape  off  your  fly  or  to  break  your 
leader  against  the  stones.  Ten  minutes  pass 
slowly,  and  though  you  are  below  him,  pull- 
ing his  head  sidewise  as  hard  as  you  dare, 
you  have  not  budged  him  an  inch.  Then 
Noel  appears,  gliding  in  and  out  like  a 
shadow  among  the  trees  on  the  bank. 

"Some  stones,  Noel — big  ones,"  you  call 
to  him  ;  and  the  Indian  begins  to  hurl  stones 
at  the  spot  where  Kopseep  is  sulking.  A 
lucky  one  starts  him  at  last  and  he  is  off  like 
a  flash,  rushing  and  jumping  all  over  the 
pool ;  while  you  endeavor  desperately  to  reel 
in  the  bagging  line  and  to  keep  Kopseep  out 


383 

JfieSfory 


384 

7ft  e  Story 


of  the  strong  rush  of  water  against  the  farther 
bank.  Spite  of  you  he  surges  into  it;  then, 
feeling  the  full  power  of  the  flood,  he  starts 
straight  down  like  an  express  train  for  the 
distant  sea.  After  him  you  go,  splashing  like 
a  startled  moose  through  the  pools,  jumping 
the  rocks  like  a  goat,  down,  down  through 
the  rapids,  with  a  heavy  side  pull  —  for  you 
are  getting  desperate  —  at  every  turn  of  the 
river,  till  with  a  sigh  of  immense  satisfaction 
you  lead  him  out  of  the  current  into  a  still, 
deep  reach  of  the  river.  And  here  the  fight 
1  begins  all  over  again. 

Up  to  the  present  moment  every  chance 
/   in  the  unequal  struggle  was  in  the  salmon's 
/    favor;    but  now  you  venture   a  wee,  small 
hope  that  you  may  get  him.    Down  below 
are  some  heavy  rapids  where  you  can  neither 
follow  nor  hold  your  fish ;  so  for  half  an  hour 
you  coax  and  humor  and  bully  him,  letting 
him  have  his  own  way  when  he  is  heading 
where  you  want   him  to  go,  but  straining 
your  light  tackle  to  the  breaking  point  to  turn 
him  away  from  the  rapids.    Then  a  great 
"=—    silver    side    rolls    up 


heavily  for  an  instant,  showing  that  he  is 
weary  enough  to  be  led,  and  you  begin 
cautiously  to  reel  him  in  to  the  bank. 

Noel  has  disappeared,  thinking,  of  course, 
that  you  lost  your  fish  in  the  second  desper- 
ate run  through  the  rapids.  You  are  half 
glad,  for  now  you  have  a  chance  to  land  a 
salmon  in  the  most  sportsmanlike  way  of  all, 
by  beaching  him  yourself  without  help  from 
the  big  gaff.  There  is  only  one  possible  spot 
hereabouts  for  so  delicate  a  landing, —  a  little 
shingly  beach  where  the  bank  shelves  gently 
into  the  river.  If  you  can  lead  him  there 
on  his  side,  at  the  first  touch  of  the  bottom 
he  will  flap  his  tail  and  kick  himself  out  on 
land,  aided  by  the  gentle  pull  of  your  line. 
Just  below  the  spot  a  broken  stub  leans  far 
out,  only  two  or  three  feet  above  the  water. 
That  is  the  danger  point;  but  you  must 
either  risk  it  or  shout  for  Noel,  and  you  are 
glad,  thinking  of  Kopseep,  to  give  him  the 
one  small  chance. 

Now  you  avoid  the  beginner's  eagerness 
and  the  mistake  of  being  in  too  much  of  a 
hurry,  and  play  your  salmon  till  he  rolls  up 


385 

The  Story 
tf  Kopseep 


386 

The  Sfory 


on  his  side  and  lies  there  fanning  the  water ; 
then  gently,  very  gently,  you  lead  him  towards 
the  shingle.  He  is  almost  yours ;  you  could 
gaff  him  yourself  as  he  swings  past  you,  and 
your  nerves  tingle  as  you  see  how  big  he  is. 
But  at  the  first  touch  of  the  stones  a  new 
strength  quivers  suddenly  in  Kopseep.  He 
turns  on  his  belly,  surges  heavily  down-stream, 
and  spite  of  the  straining  rod  passes  slowly, 
powerfully  under  the  leaning  stub.  You  drop 
your  rod  instantly  to  the  horizontal,  so  that 
your  leader  will  not  touch  the  wood,  and 
draw  him  out  towards  the  middle  of  the  river. 
Again  he  rolls  up  on  his  side  exhausted,  and 
lies  for  a  moment  just  below  the  stub.  His 
eyes  see  it  dimly,  and  with  a  last  mighty 
effort  he  turns  and  leaps  clear  over  it  up- 
stream. The  line  doubles  around  the  log;  he 
falls  with  all  his  weight  on  the  taut  leader; 
there  is  a  heavy  splash.  Then  the  salmon  is 
lying  free  in  the  shallows;  the  fly  swings  loose 
under  the  leaning  stub  with  a  tiny  white  bit 
of  Kopseep's  lip  glistening  on  the  barb. 

On  the  instant  you  have  dropped  your  rod, 
and  all  the  sportsman's  calm  vanishes  in  the 


fisherman's  eagerness  as  you  jump  forward 
to  grab  him.  Your  hands  grip  his  broad 
back;  but  his  slippery  sides  seem  to  ooze 
out  between  your  fingers  as  he  rolls  away.  A 
swift  plunge  as  he  sees  his  big  enemy ;  then  a 
broad  tail  waves  triumphantly  over  the  flood 
and  the  salmon  vanishes  into  the  deeps. 

Good-by,  Kopseep,  and  good  luck  1  You  're 
the  biggest  fish  I  have  seen  all  summer,  and 
of  course  you  got  away.  Up  at  Kopswaugan 
the  salmon  are  still  rising ;  but  I  have  no  more 
heart  for  the  little  nine-pounders.  Till  next 
summer4  then,  when  I  shall  look  for  you  again 
in  the  same  place  under  the  falls.  Meanwhile, 
may  the  bear  and  the  seal  and  the  shark  and 
the  net  always  miss  you.  The  fisherman  has 
no  regrets  that  your  story  is  not  yet  ended. 


387 

TheSfory 


Cheokhes,  che-ok-hts',  the  mink. 

Cheplahgan,  chep-lah'gan^  the  bald  eagle. 

Ch'geegee-lokh-sis,  cH gee-gee' lock-sis,  the  chickadee. 

Chigwooltz,  chig-wooltz? ',  the  bullfrog. 

Cldte  Scarpe,  a  legendary  hero,  like  Hiawatha,  of  the  North- 
ern Indians.  Pronounced  variously,  Clote  Scarpe,  Gros- 
cap,  Gluscap,  etc. 

Commoosie,  com-moo-sie' ,  a  little  shelter,  or  hut,  of  boughs 
and  bark. 

Deedeeaskh,  dee-dee'ask,  the  blue  jay. 

Eleemos,  el-ee'mos,  the  fox. 

Hawahak,  ha-wa-hdk' ,  the  hawk. 

Hetokh,  hiedkh,  the  deer. 

Hukweem,  huh-weem',  the  great  northern  diver,  or  loon. 

Ismaques,  iss-ma-qties' ,  the  fish-hawk. 

Kagax,  kag'ax,  the  weasel. 

Kakagos,  ka-ka-gos',  the  raven. 

K'dunk,  Vdunk',  the  toad. 

Keeokuskh,  kee-o-kusk',  the  muskrat. 

Keeonekh,  kee'o-nek,  the  otter. 

Keesuolukh,  kee-su-o'luk,  the  Great  Mystery,  i.e.  God. 

Killooleet,  kil'loo-leet,  the  white-throated  sparrow. 

Kookooskoos,  koo-koo-skoos',  the  great  horned  owl. 
389 


Kopseep,  kop'seep,  the  salmon. 
39O      Koskomenos,  kos' kom-e-nos' ,  the  kingfisher. 
Kupkawis,  cup-ka'wis,  the  barred  owl. 
Kwaseekho,  kwa-seek'ho,  the  sheldrake.. 
Lhoks,  locks,  the  panther. 
Malsun,  mal'sun,  the  wolf. 
Malsunsis,  nidi-sun' sis,  the  little  wolf  cub. 
Matwock,  inat'wok,  the  white  bear. 
Meeko,  meek'o,  the  red  squirrel. 
Megaleep,  meg'd-leep,  the  caribou. 
Milicete,  mil'i-cete,  the  name  of  an   Indian  tribe;    written 

also  Malicete. 

Mitchegeesookh,  mitcJi-e-gee'sook,  the  snowstorm. 
Mitches,  mit'ches,  the  birch  partridge,  or  ruffed  grouse. 
Moktaques,  mok-ta'ques,  the  hare. 
Mooween,  moo-ween',  the  black  bear. 
Mooweesuk,  moo-wee' 'suk,  the  coon. 
Musquash,  mus' quash,  the  muskrat. 
Nemox,  nlm'ox,  the  fisher. 
Pekompf,  pe-kompf,  the  wildcat. 
Pekquam,  pek-wairi ',  the  fisher. 
Queokh,  que'ok,  the  sea-gull. 
Quoskh,  quoskh,  the  blue  heron. 
Seksagadagee,  sek'sa-ga-da'gee,  the  Canada  grouse,  or  spruce 

partridge. 

Skooktum,  shook' 'turn,  the  trout. 
Tookhees,  tok'hees,  the  wood-mouse. 
Umquenawis,  um-que-nd'tvis,  the  moose. 
Unk  Wunk,  unk'  wunk,  the  porcupine. 
Upweekis,  tip-week' iss,  the  Canada  lynx. 
Waptonk,  wdp-tonk' ' ,  the  wild  goose. 
Wayeesis,  ivay-ee'sis,  the  white  wolf,  the  strong  one. 
Whitooweek,  whit-oo-week' ',  the  woodcock. 


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